


Bitter Transmutation : Cruel Transformation

by DorthyAnn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Assault, Body Horror, Bullying, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Intimacy, Enemies to Lovers, Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Has Long Hair, Heavy Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Magic Theory, No Feathers, No Veela Mates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sick Draco Malfoy, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Transformation, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Veela Draco Malfoy, Violence, Werewolves, animal injury, book veela, veela history/world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 103,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorthyAnn/pseuds/DorthyAnn
Summary: The terms of Draco’s probation require him to finish his final year of schooling, he just wants to survive with what little dignity he has left, in face of students that hate him, falling behind on his school work, and all the strange fevers and weakness and changes… that only seem to be getting worse.





	1. Chapter 1

His skin was too hot. Too tight.

Draco brushed his hair back, blinking his eyes, trying to get them to focus. His heart raced, and shivers racked through his muscles, leaving him breathless. He stumbled to his feet and headed to the hospital wing.

* * *

  
  


“Well, Mr Malfoy, you are warm, perhaps you’ve caught a fever,” Madam Pomfrey said, walking over to her potions stores.

Vials clinked as she pulled open the doors and took out two potions, bringing them back and pressing them into Draco’s hand. “Pepper-up. Take one now and the other with you for later. Come back if you need more or it gets worse.”

Draco quickly drank the potion, offering a quiet thanks. The thrumming heat ebbed, slightly. Draco left the hospital wing and went back to his room, curled up on his bed and tried to sleep.

* * *

  
  


Draco woke in darkness with a grimace, kicking off the blankets tangled around his legs. Too hot. Heat crawled across his skin in prickling, unbearable waves, his muscles twitched with every stilted breath. The fine silk of his pyjamas clung to his skin, tacky with sweat.

He cast a feeble lumos, leaning off the side of his bed to grab his robes where he had dropped them, scrabbling in the folds until his fingers closed around cold glass. He took the other pepper-up potion and dropped back onto his pillow with a shudder.

Draco closed his eyes, dropping into a hazy half-sleep.

He dreamt of his skin tightening until he couldn’t breathe and it ripped from his bones while he screamed.

* * *

  
  


Draco opened his eyes and squeezed them shut with a groan against the light sneaking through his curtains. He tried to stretch and froze with a hiss of pain as every muscle seemed to painfully protest at the movement, it even hurt to breathe. He shifted uncomfortably as his skin prickled and itched like a half-healed sunburn.

Draco eased himself out of bed, nearly falling on the discarded clothes still strewn across the floor. He gingerly made his way to his private bathroom and splashed water on his face after with a shudder. Draco drank a glass of water, and another, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth as he stumbled back to bed. He grabbed a blanket and clutched it to his chest in a crumpled ball.

He slept again.

* * *

  
  


Draco blinked blearily, only half aware he was awake or what had woke him. There was a knock on his door that turned into the door opening. Draco frantically felt around his sheets for his wand, finding it stuffed halfway under his pillow, and wrenched it out as he forced himself up onto his elbow.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy!” Slughorn said with forced joviality as he stepped inside, “There you are! You’d missed a day of classes, and Minerva pointed out it was quite out of character for you.”

Draco dropped his wand and shoulders back onto his pillow.

“Sick, then? That would explain it,” Slughorn said.

Draco nodded. He swallowed, his throat so dry it hurt.

Slughorn rocked back on his heels, straightening his robe like someone who had to be on their way, “Will you be needing help? Or perhaps just some more rest? Rest is the best medicine as they say.”

Draco didn’t have the energy to even glare at the old man. He needed to go back to the infirmary, he knew that, but asking Slughorn for help was- he still had some pride.

“Rest,” Draco said faintly.

“Excellent! Well, get well soon, lad.” Slughorn took a quick step out the door, nearly pulling it closed before bursting back in. He sidled over to the side of Draco’s bed, conjured a glass and filled it with an _aguamenti_. “I’ll have the house elves check up on you this evening,” he said, a touch of anxiety in his words, and then finally made his exit, slamming the door behind himself in his haste.

Draco pushed himself but up on his elbow and carefully sipped the water. It tasted stale. Draco’s mouth curled in disgust. He squeezed his eyes shut and drank it anyway.

No one came to check up on him.

* * *

  
  


Draco pulled himself up with the corner of his bedpost and leaned there for a moment to catch his breath. His robes felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but he pulled them tight around himself to hide the pyjamas underneath, holding his wand in his other hand even though he wouldn’t be able to cast even the simplest spell with it.

His vision swam, and a shivery little prickle slipped down his spine with every wobbly step. He hadn’t even made it halfway when he had let go of his robes to put a steadying hand against the wall. His breathing was embarrassingly loud in his own ears, his heart thrumming in his ears to match. The cold walls were a balm against his palm, and he paused to lean against it, resting his forehead against the stones and trying to ignore the growing itch between his shoulder blades.

Fingers dug into his shoulder, wrenching him around and nearly pulling him off his feet. Draco grabbed at the person’s arm in a blind panic, his wand clattering across the floor. His back met the wall with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

“Look who we have here.”

Draco followed the arm up to the owner of the voice, a familiar voice. It was a fifth-year boy, big for his age, his little sister had died in a deatheater raid during the war. He wasn’t alone, he had a greasy little friend crowding in at his side.

The hand squeezed his shoulder, bruising the already aching muscles.

Whatever breath was left in Draco was gone in a gasp of pain that rattled in his chest and came out as a whimper.

“Aww, the little deatheater’s sick. Why don’t you have your daddy call a healer for you?” Greasy mocked, “Oh, that’s right, you can’t because he _abandoned_ you.”

The hand on his shoulder pulled him off the wall and slammed him back against the wall. Fifth-year wasn’t in the mood for mocking, he never was. “Another one was bitten,” Fifth-year said darkly, “because of that feral fucking dog you let live in your house.”

Draco slid, his legs giving out, his hands clutching Fifth-year’s arm shaking uncontrollably.

“Greyback should’ve eaten _you_ ,” Greasy said, “you’d be more use as dog shite.”

Fifth-year grabbed Draco’s other arm, wrenching it up above his head.

Draco panted through the pain, his vision dimming at the edges.

“Monster,” Fifth-year hissed. He shifted his grip to Draco’s wrist and twisted it.

Pain shot through Draco’s wrist and elbow and he cried out hoarsely.

“ _Monster_ ,” Fifth-year hissed again.

“Hey! _Hey_! What do you think you’re doing?!”

The hands let go. Draco slid down the wall, pulling his arms tight against his chest and running his fingers gingerly over bruised aching skin.

“-foy? Malfoy? Are you alright?”

Draco looked up. Potter still hadn’t cut his hair. He had pulled it back in a bun, but it was still a magnificent mess with long curling strands loose at the nape of his neck and floating around his face. As Draco watched, Potter absently brushed some of them back behind his ear with one hand.

“That’s a stupid question,” Potter said, looking Draco over. He paused to grab Draco’s wand from the floor and stuff it into his pocket, “Can you stand? On your own, I mean.”

Draco wanted to say he could, to push Potter away, to sneer at him like he always had, but he was too tired. Yes, that was what he told himself. It wasn’t how Potter had changed after the war, grown taller and broader and more beautiful; how he had seemed lighter now as if he had rid himself of a terrible weight he had been carrying his whole life, which Draco supposed he had.

Draco felt a blanket of magic wash over him, its intent strangely gentle, and his whole body lightened.

Potter carefully grabbed Draco’s arm. When Draco let out a hiss of pain Potter hesitated and let go, looking at Draco’s wrist, “Other side then?”

Potter moved to his other side and pulled Draco’s arm over his shoulder, standing slowly and putting his other arm around Draco’s waist, “I’d have just floated you there, but you’d probably have killed me once you got better.”

Draco found himself smiling faintly as they slowly made their way to the hospital wing. Everything hurt, but his mind could only focus on the points connecting them together.

Potter really was an unbearably good person.

“Oh! Oh, Mr Potter, what kind of trouble have you gotten into this time?” Pomfrey said as soon as they came through the door.

Draco’s legs hit the side of a narrow infirmary bed, and he collapsed onto it, grabbing handfuls of the thick, itchy blankets to hide how badly his hands were shaking.

“It’s not me,” Potter said, “Malfoy was- a couple ravenclaws attacked him, but I think he might be really ill.”

“Oh dear,” Pomfrey cut him off. “Why did you let it get his bad, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco pulled his head up as he felt Pomfrey’s magic on him, analytical and sharp as she healed him. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt magic so… intimately before, like a touch on the skin, a taste on the tip of his tongue.

Draco was quickly ushered into bed, blankets pulled up to his chin, potions held to his mouth that he drank without question.

He heard a faint click and glanced over at the bedside table were Potter had placed Draco’s wand. Draco let his eyes close, a feeling of comfortable exhaustion cradling him and drawing him into sleep.

* * *

  
  


Harry took a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a frown as he studied Malfoy. He looked… Harry shivered faintly, it reminded him of sixth year, Malfoy was so thin and pale. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his hair was lank and unkempt.

That was different, at least. No matter how ill Malfoy looked in sixth year, he always took careful care of his appearance. Except… in the bathroom.

Harry took another step back, nearly falling onto the bed behind him.

Pomfrey put her hand on Malfoy’s forehead and shook her head.

Malfoy frowned in his sleep at the touch, turning away.

Pomfrey let him pull away and tsked under her breath. Her eyebrows twitched as she glanced up from her patient and saw Harry was still there, “Mr Potter, I can assure you Mr Malfoy is in good hands. His injuries were easily mended. His fever just needs a little extra attention. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

Harry nodded.

He didn’t like Malfoy looking so weak. It made him feel… uneasy.

“I need to track down those- the students that hurt him,” Harry said out loud to make himself to move.

“That’s very good of you,” Pomfrey said.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Harry mumbled, he took a deep breath and turned away, trying to shake the unplaceable anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong with Malfoy.

* * *

  
  


It took another day before Draco had the strength to go back to class. He had so much work to catch up on, and there was no leniency left for him anywhere in this world. He worked and studied and rarely left the library. He ignored the days when he felt weak and hot, and the strange, terrifying nightmares came for him, when he could sleep at all. He ignored it because it always passed and wasn't as bad as it had been before. Until three weeks later it was.

Draco felt the heat building in his head all through transfiguration. Though he tried to ignore it, by the time class ended, his vision was swimming, and he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to stand.

The rest of the students packed up their bags, leaving the room in a ragged line. Draco’s eyes stayed fixed on Potter’s back, and the curls of his hair pulled into a ponytail.

Potter froze, frowned, and turned, like Draco’s gaze had been a tap on his shoulder.

“Harry?” Granger called.

“You coming, mate?” Weasley paused by her side a few steps away from Potter.

Potter looked at his friends and then back at Draco with a confused expression on his face. “Go on ahead, I have something to do.”

Granger and Weasley hesitated, and Potter waved them off with a vague reassurance. He waited until they were gone before walking through the rows of desks back to Draco. “What is it, Malfoy?”

Draco hadn’t taken his eyes off him for a second. It must have been the fever making him bold, or foolish.

“Malfoy?”

Draco blinked, “I feel… faint,” he said.

Potter frowned and reached out, his hand cupping Draco’s cheek. His fingers were cool against Draco’s heated skin.

Draco’s eyes widened, “Potter?”

Potter twitched, jerking his hand back like he had been bitten and then stared at it in shock. “I-” he swallowed hard, clenching his fist until his knuckles went white, “I don’t know why I did that…?” Potter looked at Draco, his eyes narrow and searching. “There’s something different about you.”

A flare of pain went through Draco’s head, and he flinched in on himself, pressing a hand against his temple. When he opened his eyes, black spots flickered in his vision, growing and growing until he was swallowed by darkness.

* * *

  
  


The pillow under Draco’s cheek smelled damp and musty. For a moment he was back in his rooms in Slytherin before remembering that he had a private room now because the house elves had complained about cleaning up all the bubotuber pus, flobberworm mucus and whatever else had been put in his sheets or robes by whoever hated him at the moment.

Draco grabbed hold of the simple wooden headboard to push himself up and look around, the room was small, with no windows or furniture other than the bed he was laying in. He didn’t have his wand.

He wondered briefly if he had been kidnapped and would be kept as a prisoner or simply held long enough to be killed. He would be surprised if he weren’t tortured first. Some of the letters he had received after the war had been very graphic. But he was wearing the awful infirmary pyjamas, and this place smelled like the dungeons, a smell he knew better than any other after so many years of calling this place a home of sorts, so he was almost probably safe.

After deciding that checking the door wasn’t worth the energy of getting out of bed, Draco slumped back down onto the musty pillow, hooking the blanket waded up at the end with his foot and pulling it over himself to ward off the growing chill. He closed his eyes and waited for someone to come for him.

* * *

  
  


“How are you feeling, Mr Malfoy?” Pomfrey asked.

Draco stretched, wincing as his back twinged in protest. He felt Pomfrey cast a diagnostic spell and frowned faintly at the rough impatience in her magic. He felt like a cat being brushed the wrong way, and he bristled just the same.

“Follow me back to the infirmary,” Pomfrey said, walking back to the door and holding it open.

Draco pulled the blanket around his shoulders, taking his time putting on a pair of flimsy slippers and joining her, “Why was I in that room?”

Pomfrey quietly cleared her throat, “…Mr Malfoy have you ever had the saliva or blood of a lycanthrope introduced into an open wound?”

Pomfrey had started walking down the hall, but Draco was frozen to the spot, “Are you asking if I was _bitten_ by a _werewolf_?”

Pomfrey kept walking, her expression unmoved, “Last night was the full moon, and your previous episode also transpired during the phase of the full moon.”

Draco followed a few steps behind, “I didn’t transform.”

“Not all infections result in transformation or even a full transformation. The house elves reported that after your last illness, they found your bed hangings rent as if by a knife-” Pomfrey looked back at him, “-or claws.”

“I wasn’t bitten,” Draco said as levelly as he could manage. He was hated enough as it was without adding werewolf discrimination into the mix.

“It was just a precaution, Mr Malfoy. All suspected werewolf victims are isolated during the first three full moons after any potential exposure. To be safe,” Pomfrey said.

They emerged from the dungeon into the main corridor.

Pomfrey who had been silent for much of the slow walk suddenly said, “Mr Potter reported your assailants to the Headmistress. He presented his own memories as evidence against them.”

Draco nearly stopped walking again.

“It was very kind of him,” Pomfrey said pointedly, “He didn’t have to do that.”

Draco nodded absently. He was just surprised that he _wasn’t_ upset. He knew how he ought to have felt, annoyed and angry at Potter trying to _save_ him. Instead, he felt… pleased.

Pomfrey led the way back to the hospital wing, and Draco followed her a bed where a tray of potions was already waiting for him.

“Nutrition, revitalising, and strengthening potions,” Pomfrey pointed to each vial in turn, “The last is a sleeping draught. If you’re sufficiently recovered in the morning, you can resume classes.”

Draco picked up the first vial and swallowed its contents with a grimace.

Pomfrey filled a glass with water and gave it to him. “I might as well inform you now that you have to check in here with me before the next full moon, where you’ll be placed under watch again,” She crossed her arms over her chest, “If you show the same symptoms you have to go to the hospital and be examined by a ministry approved healer.”

“Just as a precaution?” Draco said sarcastically.

Pomfrey’s tone darkened, “We have several students who have to take wolfsbane now and are under the same restrictions. There are certain risks we cannot take.”

Draco grimaced at the overripe fruit flavour of the nutrient potion, taking a drink of water to try and wash the taste from his mouth.

Pomfrey gestured to the remaining potions, “I’m certain you can manage to take the rest on your own, I have other students to see to.” She walked to the end of the room and a group of beds cordoned off by screens. The students recovering from their transformations the night before.

Draco grabbed the next potion and swallowed it quickly, jerking the blankets up over his legs. If he just slept, then morning would come, and he could delve into his books again, and give his whirling mind something to focus on.

* * *

  
  


“Malfoy?”

Draco’s fingers slipped off the cork of the sleeping draught.

“I brought this,” Potter held up Draco’s wand as he walked over. He gave Draco an apologetic look, though it was reluctant at best. “It was on your desk when you passed out. I forget to give it back after I put it in my pocket.”

Draco held out his hand.

Potter turned the wand, offering it grip first- a sign of implicit trust traditionally. He pressed the wand into Draco’s hand, his fingers sliding over Draco’s palm and lingering.

Draco felt that same strange focus where they touched, a static jolt climbing his arm.

Potter let go of the wand, slowly pulling his hand away and taking a step back. He looked Draco over with a frown.

Draco absently traced over the minute scratches and nicks in the wood with his fingertips. It felt like the end of his trial all over again, when he and his mother had walked free, and Potter had been there waiting with his wand, returning it without hesitation.

Potter conjured a chair, sliding it back until it butted against the adjacent bed, and sat.

Draco placed his wand on the bedside table, “Well? I’m meant to be sleeping now,” he said, holding up the vial of sleeping draught pointedly.

“Yeah, just-” Potter ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it loose from its tie, “I was wondering if any other students have been bullying you.”

“Of course.”

Potter looked surprised.

Draco shrugged one shoulder, “Of all the people on the wrong side of the war, there’s only one that isn’t in Azkaban or left the country.”

“You’re not the only one there’s-” Potter’s brow furrowed, “Zabini-”

“Italy.”

“-Parkinson, then.”

“She and Theo transferred to Beuxabon. Greg to Durumstang,” Draco said.

Potter frowned, “Your mother was cleared of all charges.”

Draco’s jaw clenched, “She left with father when he was exiled. That only leaves me,” Draco said.

“It’s not right,” Potter muttered.

“Fascinating,” Draco drawled, “I’m sure your obsessive sense of justice will fix it then.”

Potter narrowed his eyes, “Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco pointedly closed his mouth and raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not what I- You’re such an arsehole,” Potter sighed. He sat forward, “Would you tell me who they are?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said.

“What? How do you not-?”

“When someone hits me with a tripping jinx just as I’m going down the stairs, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t ask their name,” Draco said

Potter looked away with a grimace.

“Anything else?” Draco asked.

“Would you show McGonagall your memories?” Potter asked.

Draco shifted down the bed, pulling the blankets higher, “What will happen then?”

“What?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I’m not about to give you anything unless I’m certain it’s not going to result in retribution.”

“The same as the two that attacked you yesterday, two weeks detention minimum, and weekly mind healing sessions for the rest of the school year…” Potter hesitated, “and they’ll be expelled if they’re caught doing it again.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “Was the last one real? Because I seem to remember you doing a lot worse and never getting more than a slap on the wrist. In fact, the last student to be expelled was Hagrid, our _beloved_ groundskeeper, and that was only because Myrtle died. Would I have to die first?”

Potter glared at him. “No one’s going to die. And leave off Hagrid.”

“The mind healing is a nice touch though,” Draco added.

“It was my idea,” Potter said.

“Merlin’s beard, Potter,” Draco said in disbelief, “You know you can stop trying to save everyone, right? I’m fairly certain you’ve done enough to get a free pass for the rest of your life.”

"Are you going to help out or not?" Potter asked impatiently.

Draco tapped his chin, letting Potter wait as he pretended to consider the idea, “Hmm… How about- no.”

“ _Malfoy._ ”

Draco fluffed his pillow and laid down, he hoped it looked dismissive and not like he was starting to feel weak just from sitting up. “How about this. I’ll let you exact your righteous justice on anyone that does anything after today.”

Potter sighed and tried to put his hand through his hair again, “I suppose. It’s more than I expected.”

"Oh?" Draco narrowed his eyes, "And what did you expect?"

“For you to take your wand, hex my bollocks off and call me a moron.”

"That can be arranged. Shall I?" Draco said, reaching for his wand.

“No. Thanks so kindly for the offer,” Potter said flatly, standing and dispelling the chair.

Draco dropped his hand back onto the blankets with a tsk.

Potter started to leave then turned back, his expression curdled with reluctance, “There’s someone I think you should talk to…” he hesitated, “If I asked her to come, would you meet with her?”

“Who? And why?” Draco asked.

“Probably best if I don’t say who, in case she says no. I have a hunch she might know why you keep getting sick,” Potter said, “So, will you?”

For the life of him, Draco couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. If it did give him some answers, perhaps things might improve. He was tired of being so tired. “Fine.”

Potter pursed his lips, “You have to be nice to her. I’m not going to ask her if you’re going to be a prat.”

Draco nearly laughed, and it must have shown on his face because Potter scowled at him. “Don’t worry, Potter. I’m only a prat to you.”

  
  


  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Draco sat on a window ledge and stared out at the long dark expanse of the castle grounds. A storm was brewing, grey clouds darkening the sky as the wind crashing across the tops of the trees, like a wave.

He glanced at the door at the end of the long conference room where he had been told to wait for Potter’s guest. He had been surprised about the meeting happening so soon when Potter had been so uncertain she would agree to come at all.

Draco shifted restlessly, an uncomfortable prickle was spreading from his shoulder blades, down his back. He had felt something like this before, but never this strong, like all his muscles were bunching and clenching beneath his skin. And… he felt scared.

He heard a baby cry and dropped his feet to the floor as the door swung open. A beautiful woman with silvery blond hair stepped inside, closing the door behind her as she gently hushed the baby in the sling on her front. Then she saw Draco, and recoiled, her back pressing tight against the door. Her already pale skin went nearly translucent with fear.

Draco felt a flaring aggressive, pulsing thrum in the base of his skull. A molten feeling pooling in his mind, replacing the prickling under his skin with burning pain that spread from his back and shoulders and down his arms.

 _And at the same time_ , he wanted to stand. He wanted to- to be _bigger_. He wanted to be bigger than her. For her to be afraid. For her to run, to go away- just go away. Draco’s hand’s twitched and ached, clenching and unclenching. 

He knew he couldn’t allow himself to stand. He didn’t even trust himself to move.

Every muscle in his body trembled, fighting against him as he held himself perfectly still. His breathing shuddering in uneven gasps.

“I should not ‘ave brought ze baby,” she said ruefully, her hand gripping the doorknob, ready to run.

Draco recognized her voice, it was Fleur Delacour, now married to one of the Weasley brood.

“If you do not move, I will talk,” Fleur said. She waited a moment and then continued, never taking her eyes off him, “ ‘arry wrote me and ‘e was right, you are a veela.”

“What?” Draco breathed.

Fleur nodded, “I can feel it. You can as well, yes?”

“No,” Draco breathed.

“It is true,” Fleur said shortly. The baby began to whimper, and she pressed a protective hand over their back. Her nails had grown sharp, and black as slate.

“I ‘ave read about male veela, but ‘ave never seen one. You do not seem possible, yet ‘ere you are.” Fleur swallowed hard, the door handle clicked as she eased it open, “You are young, an’ dangerous. I want to rip your throat out, so I am going to go.”

Draco just stared, his mind gone too numb to even respond.

Fleur stepped out into the hall, the sconces hit her silvery hair making it flicker with yellow and orange light, “I will send a list of names, teachers from Beauxbaton, zey might help you. Zere are books veela read to prepare for ze change. I can do no more for you.”

The door started to shut and paused once more, her voice carrying through the gap, “Do not see other veela like zis. Once ze change is done, it will be safer.”

The door closed.

Draco didn’t move. Not until his muscles began to unclench, and the prickling between his shoulders faded.

He collapsed back against the window, the cold condensation soaking through his robe. Draco looked down at his hands, hands he didn’t recognise. Horrible long fingers with longer black hooked claws at the end of his fingers and skin that almost looked like scales as it spread up his arm. He stared numbly as his hands slowly changed back, pain radiating through his hands and pulsing up his arms with every beat of his heart. He kept staring long after his hands had gone back to normal.

“Hey-” Potter’s voice broke through the fog.

“What do you want?” Draco asked, his voice sounding flat and distant.

Potter took a step closer, “Fleur told me she was coming. She had planned to stay through dinner to see us all, but she left right away. She looked… I dunno, like something was after her.”

Draco wanted to laugh but he couldn’t.

“Did you do something?” Potter asked, narrowing his eyes.

Draco just stared at him, feeling empty and cold to his core. And afraid of what might happen if he allowed himself not to be.

“…Are you alright? You look worse than Fleur did. Do you want to go back to the infirmary?” Potter asked, reaching out a hand and then hastily taking a step backwards before he could actually touch him.

Draco nodded.

* * *

  
  


“Mr Malfoy?” Pomfrey said after one look at him, “You just left my care the other day… I’m starting to think you might need to be seen by a healer.”

Draco waited until Potter had been shooed out the hospital wing before answering, “I’ve just found some information that might give me an idea of what’s wrong with me.”

“Well, that would be a relief! You’ve been quite the drain on my potion stores as of late,” Pomfrey said pressing a revitalising potion into his hand with a pointed look.

“I just need to check something,” Draco said, “I have an important family history question, if I could use the floo-?”

Madam Pomfrey’s lips thinned.

“I won’t be long, it’s just to my mother,” Draco said, trying not to sound as desperate as he was, “it’s _very_ important.”

“…Very well,” Pomfrey said stiffly. She led him to the back where a fireplace was always ready for students that might need to be taken to St. Mungo’s and unlocked the wooden box on the mantle that held her floo powder. She let him take a pinch before snapping the box closed like he might steal it otherwise.

Draco waited for Pomfrey to leave. She didn’t.

“You can cast a privacy spell,” Pomfrey said, “I can’t leave a student by an active floo unattended.”

Draco nodded because he didn’t trust himself not to snap at the woman if he tried to speak. He cast a muffliato and threw the powder into the fire, calling out his parents residence in france and sticking his head in the billowing green flames.

“Darling? What is it? Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?” Mother asked as soon as she knelt in front of the fireplace.

“I’ve been sick,” Draco said flatly.

“What is it? Oh, sweet Circe, it’s not dragon pox is it?” Mother asked in growing alarm.

“No, Mother,” Draco said, and interrupted her before she could conjure another malady for him to die from, “Are there- are there veela in our family?”

Mother went very quiet then put on one of her fake social smiles, “Oh well, you know the rumours that Malfoy line has veela heritage. It’s said that’s were their distinctive looks all come from. I’m fairly certain your grandmother Geneviève was a veela… or possibly your great-grandmother?”

“Another veela said _I_ was one,” Draco said, his hands beginning to shake all over again, “I’ve been weak, running fevers… changing…”

Mother closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she couldn’t look at him.

“Mother?”

She did not answer him.

Draco pressed, “Mother, please.”

“…Bella once told me-” Mother said, her voice halting and terribly fragile, “I thought she was just being cruel, she was often cruel for no reason.”

Draco waited.

Mother took a deep breath, “She said I was a bastard. From a veela whore. That I was only kept around because I was still half Black.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away.

“Mother…”

She shook her head, “They were so quick to marry me off, so pleased about the dowry the Malfoy’s offered even though they had always said the whole family was nothing but power-hungry upstarts.”

“And your hair,” Draco said quietly, “Blacks have dark hair.”

Mother nodded and whispered, “But aside from my colouring, I’ve never had any of the veelas… special traits. Draco, are you certain? Are you absolutely certain?”

“I- I….my hands… I had talons,” Draco said. _I’m frightened_ , he wanted to say, but could no more say the words here than he had in the past.

Mother nodded faintly, biting her lip. “What can I do? Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“I was told there are books on veela at Beauxbaton-”

“I’ll find you everything I can,” Mother said.

“And,” Draco hesitated, looking down at his hands, braced on the stone floor, “don’t tell father,” he whispered.

Mother glanced away looking stricken, “Draco… I couldn’t. You know he wouldn’t approve.”

“I know.” Draco felt a finger tap his shoulder and quickly blinked back the stinging ache in his eyes, “I have to go now, Mother.”

“Write me, tell me everything,” Mother said, “I’ll send whatever I can find.”

“I’ll write to you. Goodbye,” Draco said. He sat back on his heels and clumsily removed the muffling charm.

“Mr Malfoy, if you’re done, I have students to see to other than you,” Pomfrey said.

Draco sneezed from the ash as the flames died down. He slowly uncorked the potion she had given him and drank it down.

“Well?” Pomfrey said, tapping out an impatient rhythm with her foot.

“I…” Draco looked at nothing, his eyes refusing to focus. His throat grew tight, choking on the words.

“Mr Malfoy.”

Draco swallowed hard, “….can I tell you tomorrow? It can wait, can’t it?”

“Oh, it will certainly be sorted tomorrow,” Pomfrey said, shaking her head, “Get to bed. I’m sure you know your way by now.”

* * *

  
  


Draco stared at the dark ceiling of the hospital wing. It was becoming an unfortunately common sight.

He shifted restlessly, the bed springs squeaking faintly under him. There was so much he didn’t know. There was so much he was frightened to know.

The door at the far end of the room eased open and shut with unnatural silence, followed by a lack of footsteps to follow and just an occasional rustle of fabric.

Draco waited, feeling a growing sense of calm as whoever it was approached. No. He knew. He had felt it enough times now. Potter taking off his invisibility cloak only confirmed Draco’s suspicions.

“What do you want?” Draco asked.

Potter hesitated, frowning and pulling at his hair, “You never said.”

“Said what?”

“If it was true, what I thought,” Potter said.

Draco’s eyes widened and he looked away.

“It was, wasn’t it,” Potter said.

Draco squeezed his eyes closed and nodded.

Potter conjured a chair, turning it around and sitting on it backwards so he could rest his arms across the top. His hair was loose and fell around his face in a riot of wavy curls. The faint light of the moon traced the planes of his face and painted the tips of his eyelashes white.

Draco shivered and pulled his blankets higher, “If you’ve known all this time-”

“It was more of a guess really,” Potter interrupted.

Draco narrowed his eyes, “How could you possibly guess something I- I didn’t-”

Potter shrugged, with an almost guilty look, “Just a feeling.”

“A _feeling_ ,” Draco repeated, mocking and resentful. “Fine. Then stay away from me.”

Potter frowned at him.

“You’re being affected by my allure,” Draco said nearly biting his own tongue, wanting to pull those words back from the open air.

Potter propped his chin on his arms, “Yeah. Should be fine, though. I can throw off an Imperius, and Fleur didn’t really affect me at all.”

“She hardly has any power,” Draco said and shivered, uncomfortable with the certainty of his knowledge. But he had felt her magic, he knew.

Potter rubbed his cheek on his arm, avoiding Draco’s gaze, “Fleur’s not my type is all.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Draco said.

“I’ll go,” Potter said, though he didn’t move.

Draco knew it was a foolish idea, but Potter made him feel calm for the first time all day.

Draco closed his eyes, unwilling to look at Potter as he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper, “Stay until I fall asleep?”

There was silence, filled only with their breathing.

“Alright,” Potter replied softly.

* * *

  
  


Harry put his chin back on his arms as Malfoy’s breathing slowed, and his body relaxed into sleep. Malfoy still looked ill, but somehow more ethereal. It was probably the moonlight, Harry told himself, making Malfoy’s hair and skin look so-

Harry shook his head, turning his cheek on his arms, looking out the window. It was strange thinking of Malfoy of all people being part veela. Not that Harry knew many part human, part magical creatures.

Hagrid was half giant, Remus had been a werewolf, and Greyback was still out there. He wondered if metamorphmagus’ like Tonks and Teddy counted, probably not since they weren’t… hated. The metamorphmagus ability wasn’t from being mixed with anything, at least not that he knew of. It was mixing that people always seemed to hate, regardless of whether they were muggles or magic.

He knew a lot of people would say veela weren’t hated, but Harry remembered how people had treated Fleur, drooling and gawking at her, trying to win her like a prize. She had only started dating Bill because he had treated her like a _person_. And it was awful how very rare that seemed to be. It would be worse for Malfoy. He was a veela, his past, and his family all stirred into a single volatile mix.

Harry hadn’t been lying about Fleur. He had felt a pull from her, but it had been so light he had shrugged it off without thinking. Being around Malfoy wasn’t like that, Harry hesitated to think of it as an allure at all. He didn’t desire Malfoy, it felt more like… being wrapped up in a warm blanket. It was just _comfortable_ to be around him. Harry felt more at ease, his thoughts didn’t race, and he felt like he could finally, _finally_ , let down his guard.

Harry looked back as Malfoy he turned on his side, trying to squirm deeper into the blankets. Harry stood as quietly as he could and pulled the duvet higher around Malfoy and sat back down, feeling accomplished when Malfoy relaxed again.

It wasn’t an allure, but that didn’t make it any less dangerously appealing.

* * *

  
  


Draco carefully used the corner of his toast to mop up the last bit of egg from his plate, trying not to feel resentful and hungry as he ate the last bite.

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall said briskly as she walked over to his bedside.

Draco put his breakfast tray aside and sat up straighter, “Headmistress.”

“Poppy has sent me quite a worrying report,” McGonagall said holding up a sheet of parchment, the handwriting too small and cramped for him to read, “The number of times you’ve been the hospital wing recently is alarming.” She pushed her glasses up and read off, “Chronic fatigue, weakness, fainting, dangerously high fevers…” She looked over the top of the parchment, “Does this have anything to do with other students targeting you?”

“No,” Draco said.

McGonagall said, “As far you’re aware it’s a purely health-related issue? If so, it’s reached the point where it would be in your best interest to be seen by a healer at St Mungo’s.”

Draco hesitated, looking down at his hands curled together on the sheets, “Could I be certain of your discretion if I were to tell you what it is?”

McGonagall pursed her lips and gave him a short nod, “No one will know outside of those that absolutely must for your health and well-being. And I won’t budge on that, Mr Malfoy.”

“And you’ve always done such a jolly good job of it” Draco muttered, unable to hold back his bitterness.

“It is my goal to improve every year upon the last, especially in concern to the failings of the last few years,” McGonagall said. She drew her wand and cast a series of overlapping privacy charms around them, “Go on.”

Draco squeezed the sheets, “I-” his throat tried to close over the words again, and he took a deep breath. “…I’m a veela,” he choked out.

McGonagall’s eyebrows rose. She slowly looked him over with a growing frown, “You are looking better than your health issues would normally suggest, and are somewhat more… distinctive than you used to be…”

Draco grimaced, his nose wrinkling.

“Can anyone verify your claim?” McGonagall asked, “Otherwise, a visit with a healer still stands.”

Draco hesitated, “My mother said there might be a family history of it and… another veela said that I was one. I… I began changing when she came in the room. My hands-” he stretched them out in front of himself, they began to shake at the memory, “-I had black talons.”

“Not claws?” McGonagall asked.

“I know what talons look like. I’ve had an owl since I was three,” Draco said stiffly.

McGonagall’s expression didn’t flicker, “I had to ask, Mr Malfoy, we’ve had quite a few werewolves this year.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I never said it was,” McGonagall said coolly. “I can hardly see how you would be solely responsible for a rather unstable man who was serving Voldemort of his own free will. If anyone was to blame, I would say it was the aurors under whose watch he escaped before he could be imprisoned.”

Draco wilted back against the headboard.

“Would this veela be willing to verify what you’ve just told me?” McGonagall asked.

“I don’t think she wants anyone to know she saw me,” Draco said.

McGonagall nodded, “Well then, I shall be discrete when I speak to Fleur Weasley.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“She requested permission to visit the school yesterday, it’s not a difficult leap to make,” McGonagall said, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly.

Draco nodded.

McGonagall sighed, “The problem, Mr Malfoy, is that we’ve never had a veela at Hogwarts and that is because we are not prepared to deal with them going through- precisely what you seem to be going through right now.”

“What I’m going through?” Draco said.

“Not all veela have the correct mix of genes to change in any meaningful way, but those that do, they transition from being just a rather striking human to something a bit more… well, veela _are_ considered magical creatures. Your entire body is changing into something quite different.”

“You make it sound like puberty,” Draco said.

McGonagall mouth twitched up briefly, “Something like that, yes.”

“I don’t remember puberty being quite so painful.”

“That is troubling,” McGonagall said, “but it likely has something to do with how old you are.”

“Eighteen?” Draco said.

“ _Too old_ , Mr Malfoy. Veela usually change sometime between the age of thirteen and sixteen and over a year, sometimes more. I suspect the stress of the past two years may have delayed it, and now your body is trying to catch up.” McGonagall tapped her foot on the floor as she thought, her brow furrowing. “I must speak with Fleur. If she confirms your story, then I will need to reach out to Beauxbaton and see if you can still transfer this late in the year.”

Draco sat bolt upright, “Transfer?”

“We can’t accommodate you here,” McGonagall said.

“…My probation stated that I had to finish my schooling at Hogwarts,” Draco said.

“I will arrange everything,” McGonagall said, “Your health and safety are more important.”

“I’m not sure the Wizengamot will agree with you,” Draco said.

“I don’t care if they agree, it’s not negotiable,” McGonagall said, “For now, however, you can’t return to your lessons.”

“But I’m already so far behind!” Draco protested.

“There’s no saying how your unstable magic might react to other students. And you are weak enough that too great an exertion could be injurious to you,“ McGonagall said.

“I can’t afford to lose more time,” Draco said.

“I’ll have someone bring you notes from your classes. I believe Hermione Granger shares the same classes as you?” McGonagall asked.

Draco stared at her.

“Surely you can’t have any complaints about the quality of her notes,” McGonagall said.

Draco muttered. “I’m not the one that’s going to have complaints.”

“Hermione is an exemplary student, and if she has any complaints, you’ll be glad to hear it is not a request.”

Draco nodded.

“Are there any other students who know?” McGonagall asked.

“Potter,” Draco answered reluctantly.

“Ah, and he arranged for you to meet with Fleur.” McGonagall tapped a finger on her chin thoughtfully, “As long as he knows, I might have Harry bring you whatever you might need for your classes when I’m not available.”

“I don’t think that’s a-”

“Now is not the time for petty childhood rivalries,” McGonagall interrupted, “Harry is trustworthy, and can throw off an Imperius curse. He is uniquely suited to being in your presence.” She nodded and brushed her hands together as if it were all sorted, “Very well, I have a great deal to see to now. You’ll be moved to a private room-”

“I already have a single room,” Draco said.

“It’s too close to the other students. We have to avoid all unnecessary contact.” McGonagall said.

“I understand,” Draco said flatly, “It won’t be for long anyway.”

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Draco opened the little tower’s window to let in the brown delivery owl, quickly shutting it again before the driving rain got in. He untied the package from its leg, and the owl flew over to a chair by the small desk.

“You can’t stay forever,” Draco warned.

The owl lifted its wings slightly and shook the water from itself in a little shivery movement that left its feathers fluffed out and then settled back onto the chair, content with its place.

Draco shrugged and pulled off the twine and paper wrapped around the cardboard box, throwing the refuse in the small fireplace. He opened the box and took out a rather large bottle, turning it around to examine the label, _nutrient potion,_ with dosage instructions below. Draco ignored that, pulling the cork out and taking a swallow, trying not to shudder at the taste.

There was another impatient tap on the window. Draco set the bottle down on the dusty table and went to the window, retrieving a second owl and package. This one carrying a revitalising potion. The second owl went and joined the first on the back of the chair, they ruffled their feathers and leaned into one another, beginning to groom one another.

Draco absently stroked their feathers as he walked past, “The shop owner won’t be pleased with you staying here.” He looked outside at the pelting rain, “Not that I blame you.”

He sighed and went back to the little living area of his new room. He had been moved to a small tower in an unused corner of the castle as soon as classes started and the halls were empty. It was up a long narrow staircase that wound up the inside of a tower, to a wooden hatch that led to his rooms. The first floor had a couch and an armchair in front of the fireplace, with a small round table in the centre. At the back of the room, a simple wooden chair and desk sat between the two small windows.

The winding staircase continued on the wall up to the second floor, which had a bed, a wardrobe, and a small bathroom that had been enlarged to three times bigger than the small closet space it occupied. The only appealing thing about the room was a large pair of iron banded doors opposite his bed that opened onto a balcony overlooking the Forbidden Forest. Everything was currently grey from a thick layer of dust.

Draco could hear a house elf padding around above his head still cleaning. Once it was habitable, Draco intended to take dreamless sleep and just stay in bed as long as humanly possible.

He opened the second box and took a rather larger swallow of revitalising potion. He wasn’t sure what he should do about being…what he was, but his body needed the extra energy and nutrients.

Draco set the bottle of the table and collapsed onto the couch, waving the dust away absent-mindedly. He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and he closed his eyes, feeling a gentle calmness wash over him.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco said.

A few steps later Potter’s black hair showed through the opening in the floor soon followed by the rest of him.

“How’d you know it was me?” Potter asked, looking a bit winded.

Draco looked back at the fire and lied, “I guessed. There are only two people who are allowed to see me.”

“Oh, right,” Potter said. He stood there for a few seconds more and then haltingly walked over to the table, “I have your notes.”

Draco nodded, carefully not looking at him.

Potter set a strange notebook held together with a spiral of wire on the table and fished around in his bag, taking out two other books, “I got these as well. It’s all I could find on veela, other than brief descriptions in magical creature books.”

Draco didn’t answer, clenching his teeth.

“Malfoy? Are you listening?” Potter asked.

“I’m ignoring you,” Draco said flatly.

Potter hummed under his breath, “Not doing a very good job of it are you?”

Draco shot him a glare, which only made Potter smirk in triumph. He grabbed the books from Potter’s hands and read the titles embossed on the spines, “These are fairy tales.”

“I said it wasn’t much. Pince says there are better books, but only the veela themselves have them.”

Draco nodded, flipping to an illustration of a beautiful woman dressed only in vines and leaves standing in a field of poppies, beckoning the viewer with outstretched hands.

“I’m gonna stay for a while,” Potter said, sitting down on the armchair, “I have some reading to do for charms and everywhere is crowded.”

Draco stared at him, his chest feeling strangely tight, “Why?”

Potter paused from taking another book out of his bag, “It’s too loud, and I can’t concentrate?”

“No,” Draco said, “Why do you want to stay here? We’re not friends. We don’t like each other.”

Potter shrugged one shoulder, “I don’t dislike you.”

“You have every reason to dislike me, Potter,” Draco said.

“Well, I don’t.”

“We hated each other seven years,” Draco said, “We were on opposite sides of the war.”

“And we _grew up_ and realised that without all that blood purity bullshit we could actually get on just fine,” Potter said.

“Are you a seer now?” Draco said sarcastically.

“I mean it might as well happen as not, right?” Potter said, leaning back into the dusty chair and opening his book, “I won’t distract you or anything.”

Draco looked back at his own book, “…What does it feel like?”

“What?” Potter asked.

Draco traced the description under the illustration- ‘Wood Nymph in a Clearing of Flowers’. “Being around me. You feel something, don’t you?” he asked, “That’s why you want to stay here.”

Potter hesitated, “…No. I just want to read.”

Draco flipped the next page in the book with a muttered, “Liar.”

Potter didn’t rise to his bait and just kept reading. Draco read about a wood nymph whose beauty stole men away from their wives, and they forgot to eat and drink and died in loving her. She wept, curled in roots of her mother tree until she fell into a deep sleep born of sorrow and the good pure son of a woodcutter and took an axe to the nymph’s tree while she slept, cutting it in half and killing her.

Draco didn’t think about Potter and how much he wanted him there, how much he wanted him to stay. He didn’t think about how this was what he had wanted since he was eleven, the pure undivided attention of Harry Potter-

-because of what he was becoming. Because of this magic _changing_ him. He wasn't so foolish as to think it was because of who he was. It wasn't- and it never would be.

“It’s getting late,” Potter said, stretching as he stood up from his chair, “I’d better get going.”

Draco closed the book of fairy tales and stared into the dying flames in the fireplace.

Potter picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the stairs.

“Don’t come back.”

“What?” Potter stopped.

Draco clenched his jaw and took a steadying breath, “I said, don’t come back.”

“But, I’m supposed to get you anything-”

“I don't care,” Draco said.

Potter frowned.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” Draco said coldly, “I don’t need you to come here, and you don’t need to come, so don’t waste my time.”

Potter looked around the tower with a scowl, “Because you’re _so_ busy. Get your head out of your ass, Malfoy.”

Draco kept his gaze fixed on the fire, refusing to acknowledge him.

Potter shook his head, “Good to know you’re still a prick. I thought maybe you had changed.”

And Draco barely winced at all when Potter stormed down the stairs. He felt every step Potter took away from him until he was gone from Draco’s grasping senses, even as they still yearned after him.

“I don’t need him,” Draco snapped in the silence.

He stood, pacing in front of the fire, trying to shake the feeling of unease filling him. The rain thudded relentlessly on the windows. The fire cracked loudly in its grate.

Draco twitched, grabbed a bottle from the table and hurling it into the fireplace. It smashed against the bricks in a shower of glass, and the fire sputtered, flaring purple. The delivery owls hooted, their feathers rising in alarm. Draco grabbed the other bottle and flung it after the first as hard as he could. Glass skittered out of the grate across the floor, the fire burned green and blue for a moment before it guttered and went out in a hiss of smoke and steam.

“I don’t need him! I don’t need anyone! I’m not going to-!” Draco’s chest heaved, fury edged with sorrow he refused to recognise, “I won’t. I won’t be chained to someone. Ever again.”

The tower darkened without the firelight to fill in its edges. The owls hooted mournfully behind him.

Draco went to the desk, writing a new potion order, wrapping it in ten galleons and giving it to one of the owls before throwing the window open. The owls nearly ran into one another in their haste to leave. He didn’t bother closing the window. He went upstairs, ignoring the house elf’s complaints and climbed into the bed, pulling the comforter over his head.

* * *

  
  


Harry dropped himself into the overstuffed crimson couch Ron and Hermione were sitting on in the mostly deserted common room.

“You’re back,” Hermione said, looking up from the book laid open in her lap.

“Brilliant as always,” Harry said, only a touch sarcastically.

Ron grinned, “Didn’t go well then? Figures with Malfoy involved.”

Harry frowned at them, “…I didn’t tell you about Malfoy, did I?”

“You did now,” Ron said, his grin growing.

Harry rolled his eyes before going back to frowning at them, “Okay, but how? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything.”

“I noticed Malfoy’s been sick a lot,” Ron said.

“And McGonagall asked me to start making copies of all my notes. There are only a few students that have the same schedule as me, Malfoy being one,” Hermione said.

“And you’ve been distracted as hell,” Ron said, “and there are only a few people that can wind you up like that.”

“We were curious so-” Hermione shrugged, “we connected the dots. Though it was just a hypothesis until you confirmed it.”

Harry sighed.

“What are you doing anyway?” Ron asked.

“Does it have to do with Malfoy being bullied?” Hermione asked.

Ron snorted, “Serves him right if it does.”

“Ron,” Hermione said reproachfully.

Ron shrugged, “Well, it does! He was a horrible bully for ages. It would be proper karma for him to get a bit of it back.”

Hermione grimaced, “I might agree with you personally, but it’s the sort of thing that starts a dangerous cycle. It doesn’t help anyone in the end.”

“I suppose…” Ron said.

“The war is over,” Harry said, feeling resentful, “We didn’t go through all that for everything to end up the same in the end.”

“Right. Right,” Ron said quickly, “No it’s- you’re right- It’s just Malfoy, with him it’s more personal. He was always saying things about my family and you Mione, it’s hard to let it go, is all.”

Hermione nodded, “I feel the same way. But I still want to try to be the bigger person.”

Harry nodded absently, feeling unaccountably guilty about lingering around Malfoy. He might be changing on the outside, but that didn’t mean he was all that different inside. Although it wasn’t exactly like before, Malfoy was _a bit_ softer… like all his edges had been chipped off, so they weren’t as sharp. Still pointy but not as-

“-ate. Mate?-”

Harry looked over, “Huh?”

“What’s with Malfoy anyway?” Ron asked.

“Oh,” Harry said, distantly, “He’s…ill, I suppose. McGonagall asked me to help out because I knew about it.”

“Ill? What sort? Dragon pox? Spattergroit? Has he gone Gorgon?” Ron asked.

Hermione scoffed, “It’s not petroplasia saxumicans progressiva-”

“A what-what?” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “He’s not turning to stone or any of the others for that matter, he’d be in the hospital if he were.”

“Since when do they send us to hospital?” Ron said.

Hermione hesitated, “You’re right about that, actually.”

“So it could be,” Ron said.

Harry shook his head, “Best I don’t say, I think. It’s personal.”

“Well, just be careful,” Hermione said, “You don’t want to catch anything.”

“It’s not that sort of sickness,” Harry said.

“More importantly,” Ron said, “Seamus heard that a werewolf was spotted near Hogsmeade.”

“To be precise, it was a large wolf with a short tail,” Hermione said.

“Which is precisely what werewolves look like,” Ron said.

Hermione frowned at him, “It _could_ be a wolf whose tail got caught in a trap.”

“It could be if all the wolves weren’t all killed off two hundred years ago. This isn’t exactly the forests of Russian,” Ron said.

Hermione sighed and took Ron’s hand, “I just hope it was a mistake.”

“Even if it was a werewolf it doesn’t mean it’s going to hurt anyone,” Harry said, “Sometimes Remus went to the Forbidden Forest to transform to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone. It might not be Greyback.”

“Hopefully,” Ron said, “We’re safe in the school anyway, the castle’s wrapped up tighter than mums leftovers after all the repairs and new spellwork.”

“The thing that bothers me is it was recent, and the full moon was a week ago,” Hermione said.

“Could be they saw it earlier and only told someone recently,” Harry said.

“Or they’re a liar,” Ron said, “Trying to scare people.”

“I hope they lied,” Hermione said.

“Me too,” Harry said.

* * *

  
  


Draco had taken dreamless sleep, but it had only worked for four hours before he had blinked awake, every muscle in his body tensed. He listened in silence, trying to figure out what had woken him up, what had him on high alert but there was nothing. After counting to one hundred, he grabbed his wand from the night table and cast _homenum revelio._ It showed nothing, he was utterly alone in the tower.

He stared at the canopy of his bed until the sun rose, the feeling of unease never faded. With nothing better to do, he went downstairs and tried to catch up on his classwork, reading through all of Granger’s immaculate notes and practising the new spell work. A transfiguration paper was assigned as well that he needed books from the library for it, what books he didn’t know, and couldn’t look for. Not that it mattered since he would be transferring to Beauxbaton soon enough.

Draco ate all the food sent to him and took his newly delivered potions before letting himself trudge back to his bed and a waiting potion of dreamless sleep.

* * *

  
  


The potion only let him sleep three and a half hours, after which he startled awake with the certainty someone was in the room, and couldn’t sleep again. He ate. Granger’s clever notebook updated itself to reflect her own notes, so he studied until the sky grew dark and went back to bed.

* * *

Four hours.

He ate. He studied for a while. He went back to bed, lying curled up under the warm blankets and pretended he was somewhere else, somewhen else, back when things were simple. He only got up for meals and potions and returned to his blankets.

* * *

  
  


Three hours.

He ate. The words he was trying to read swam in front of his eyes. He dozed fitfully in front of the fire and woke with a thrumming headache and a sore neck. He went back to bed.

* * *

  
  


Three hours, thirty-four minutes.

He was so hungry he felt like he might throw up. Eating didn’t ease the ache. He stared at the fire until the sky grew dark and went to bed.

* * *

  
  


Four hours and eight minutes.

Draco read about the sirens, seducing Odysseus with their songs that promised him all the knowledge in the world, and what he craved most of all, knowledge of his own past.

The sun rose and set again as Draco struggled through the myth. He lost hours to sentences he saw without reading, read without comprehending and stared at a picture of beautiful women waving to a distant boat, their stola dresses painted conspicuously sheer.

He curled up on the couch with the book clutched to his chest, waking with a start when it fell, hitting the floor with a thump.

He went to his bed and pretended if he closed his eyes long enough, sleep would eventually come.

* * *

  
  


Three hours, eleven minutes.

Draco stared into the fireplace, a few tiny flames licking up around the piles of ash and blacked remains of logs. He picked up Granger’s muggle notebook and opened it to a blank page at the back, blinking at the faint blue lines. He thumbed a single sheet free and tore it out of the metal spiral and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it into the fireplace. It slowly uncurled from the crumple, an edge turned red and black growing into a small flame that quickly overtook the whole page.

It burned faster than parchment. Draco tore out another, crumpling it and throwing it after the first.

Draco blinked, his eyes feeling heavier. He pulled the next piece of paper out slowly, letting his eyes rest. He felt so warm. Comfortable. He slid down into the couch cushions drifting into an easy, deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

  
  


Harry slid his hand along the wall as he walked up the spiral stairs. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he shivered as he got close enough to feel Malfoy’s magic. The prickle spread down his spine and filled him from the inside with every step, his mind comfortably emptying of the things that had been nagging him all day, studying and papers, students and adults alike still haunted by the war, hatred and prejudice, possible werewolves, all gone.

He almost stopped when he saw the wooden hatch, wanting to just stay and bask in the comfortable blanket of warmth in his mind without having to actually deal with Malfoy. He did for a while, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Harry kept expecting to hear Malfoy call down with an acerbic greeting. When he didn’t, Harry started to get worried, even though Malfoy was fine, probably… definitely. He was _fine_.

Harry pushed the hatch open and found the tower room quite warm even with the fire banked low. Harry saw Malfoy’s hair, a few golden-white wisps pushed up over the edge of the couch armrest. He tiptoed the last few steps into the room, almost holding his breath as he moved close enough to see Malfoy.

He was asleep, slipped down into the cushions, breathing through his mouth in little huffs of air. And he wasn’t fine. Harry hadn’t thought the shadows under Malfoy’s eyes could get any worse, but they were so dark they looked more like bruises with a fae shimmer on the thin skin, his cheeks were drawn and pale, pinked like a welt. It was strangely, upsettingly, beautiful

Harry reached out to wake Malfoy and hesitated, he wanted to let Malfoy sleep, but the teachers from Beauxbaton were here. They would be able to help him.

“Malfoy?” Harry shook his shoulder.

Malfoy grimaced.

“Malfoy, wake up,” Harry said reluctantly

Malfoy cracked an eye open and then squeezed them closed, his eyelashes trembling like he was desperately trying not to cry, “I was asleep…” he said faintly, his voice cracking on the words.

“The Beauxbaton teachers are here. They’re waiting for you,” Harry explained, hoping it would help.

Malfoy swallowed hard as he pushed himself up, his hands shaking. Harry took Malfoy’s arm as he stood, trying to help. Malfoy slapped his hand away as soon as he was steady, glaring viciously at Harry.

Harry ignored the look, it was like being attacked by a kitten; retaliating would just be cruel, and utterly unnecessary, it looked like a gust of wind could knock Malfoy over.

He pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket, it unfolded in a cascade of silvery material that Harry swung around Malfoy. He brushed his hands over Malfoy’s thin shoulders, allowing himself to indulge in the briefest of touches as he did up the clasp. Because it was the last time. And he didn’t want to think about what those sorts of thoughts might mean.

“We’re supposed to go to the conference room, the one you met Fleur,” Harry said, pulling the hood over Malfoy’s head, “Stay close, alright?”

Harry waited for a few seconds, but when it was obvious no reply was coming, he started down the stairs, Malfoy’s footsteps echoing softly behind him.

* * *

  
  


Potter took each step down the tower slowly and kept anxiously glancing behind him, even though he wouldn’t be able to see anything. Draco tripped on the last tower step and had to grab the back of Potter’s shirt to stay up. Potter didn’t say anything, even as his expression grew more worried.

Draco kept hold of that knot of fabric, for balance, not because it gave him the tiniest bit of strength to keep walking when all he wanted was to curl into a ball on the stone floor and go back to sleep. He lost track of where they were headed, just following Potter’s back, pulled along by his shirt like a child on a leash. He nearly ran into Potter when he stopped to open a door and hold it for Draco.

Draco shed the cloak as he entered, looking around the long empty room. It wasn’t as ominous in the light of day, but Draco still felt a prickling creep of dread-

“Just throw it on the floor,” Potter muttered sarcastically, grabbing his cloak and putting it away, “Not like it’s a priceless magical heirloom or anything.”

-prickling down his back, growing- Draco stumbled back to Potter grabbing his arm, pulling him back towards the door.

“Wha-! What?! Malfoy, what are you-?”

“Veela,” Draco hissed between his teeth, panic in his voice, “Veela- I-I _can’t_ -”

Too weak.

The feeling was getting closer, and instead of taking the far door, it was approaching the door they had entered. Too close.

Adrenaline surged through Draco, and he bolted backwards, heading for the nearest window, grasping at the large leaded panels of thick glass. He hit one with his fist, hardly registering the jolt of pain that ran down his arm, began frantically searching his pockets for his wand-

“-foy! Malfoy!” Potter grabbed his arm and pulled him around.

“I _can’t_. _I_ _can’t_.” Draco panted, backing along the wall, trying to pull free.

Can’t change.

The door handle began to turn, faint voices muffled through the wood.

“Can’t what?” Potter demanded, scanning from one end of the room to the other over his shoulder, keeping hold of him.

“ _can’t_ ,” Draco said, his voice lost all his strength as his back hit the wall and he pressed himself into the corner.

Can’t fight.

Potter drew his wand, “Look, nothing is going to hurt you.”

Draco shook his head frantically. Potter had loosened his grip, and Draco latched on his arm with both hands, holding as tightly as he could.

Can’t run.

“Nothing is going to hurt you,” Potter said firmly. He turned readying his wand, shielding Draco with his body as the door opened.

* * *

  
  


Harry’s heart was thundering in his chest, _expelliarmus_ on the tip of his tongue as he glanced around looking for better cover. It would take a moment for whoever it was to spot them, and they could use that time to run to the table thirty feet away and take cover there which would give them enough time to do something-

The door pushed opened, and Harry tensed, ready to run as-

A tall, beautiful woman stepped inside, her pale blue eyes already fixed on them with an intensity that made Harry shudder. He vaguely felt Malfoy grab the back of his jumper with both hands.

Harry raised his wand, as the woman’s mouth curved into a cold, vicious smile-

“Is there something wrong?” McGonagall’s voice sliced through the rising tension, “Draco Malfoy should be waiting inside.”

Harry’s arm dropped slightly.

“Zis is your veela?” the woman’s voice lilted, laced with amusement. Her white hair was cut into a sharp asymmetrical bob. Her lips were painted a vivid plum, a droplet of colour on the monochromatic canvas of her pale robes and skin.

“Of course, Jeanne,” a different woman’s voice said behind Jeanne. “I can feel it as well as you can.”

“If we could step inside-” McGonagall said, starting to sound impatient.

Jeanne let out a bark of laughter, “Zat won’t be necessary.”

“I’ve arranged all the appropriate paperwork with the Ministry,” McGonagall said.

“We cannot take ‘im,” Jeanne said slowly, every word set in stone and yet somehow mildly gleeful.

“Beauxbaton specializes in the training of veela and their descendants,” McGonagall said, “you can’t just-,”

“We require at least a year before any fevers start to build bonds between ze students. If ‘e were to come to Beauxbaton now, ‘e would be torn limb from limb,” Jeanne said.

“But-”

“ ‘e should take great care before ever deciding to travel to the continent, or ‘e might never be seen again,” Jeanne said, enunciating every consonant like a warning. “It is a shame, to ‘ave come all zis way for _nothing_ ,” she turned on her heel and left without another word.

McGonagall and the other woman were left on either side of the door frame for a brief second, before McGonagall frowned severely, and turned to follow Jeanne, “ _Excuse me_ , I will not-” her voice fading down the hallway.

“Goodness,” the other woman said, stepping inside the room. 

Where Jeanne had been tall and pale, she was short and her skin dark, though her hair was still as white as snow. Her robes were in Beauxbaton blue, embroidered with daisies along the hem. She was older than Jeanne, though with veela it was hard to say what her age actually was, anywhere from forty to seventy, maybe older. Her beauty had shifted from youthful to maturity, the lines around her eyes looking dignified and promising a person who smiled a lot, which she did as she looked at them, “You ‘ave to forgive Jeanne, she ‘as only taken over as ‘ead of the flock recently, she is very protective of zem.”

Harry dropped his wand to his side, but Malfoy still trembled against his back, so he was hesitant to put it away.

“My name is Margery,” she pointed to herself, “Your names are?”

“Both?” Harry said.

Margery nodded.

“I’m Harry,” Harry said, and pointed behind him, “This is Draco Malfoy.”

“I see,” Margery said thoughtfully. After a moments thought she said, “Draco, I would like to see you.”

Harry took a step forward to give Malfoy room, but he stayed right behind Harry.

“Just once, s'il vous plaît,” Margery insisted in a gentle voice.

Harry felt Malfoy shift his grip, holding onto Harry’s shirt with only one hand and edging to the side just enough to be seen. Margery tsked and shook her head, which was all Malfoy needed to go back into hiding.

“It should not be so bad,” Margery said, she looked at Harry disapprovingly, “‘ave you not been caring of ‘im?”

“Me?” Harry asked, pointing to himself in disbelief.

“Yes? Or someone else ‘e trusts?” Margery said.

Harry stared at her. There was no way Malfoy trusted him, not when there was… someone, there had to be _someone_ else.

“Were you not prepared for zis at all?” Margery said.

“I didn’t know,” Malfoy said, Harry felt Malfoy’s forehead lean against his shoulder, his voice muffled by the awkward angle, “I thought my mother was fair… I thought my father would die of shame rather than be …mixed.”

“Hm,” Margery said shortly, “I shall tell you what I can, before we ‘ave to go.” She pushed the door as far open as it would go, making sure it would stay open, then walked across the room, smoothing her robes down as she sat on the floor with a sigh.

“…Can I get you a chair?” Harry offered.

“No, zat is not ze point,” Margery said, “Cast a cushioning charm, s'il vous plaît.”

Harry did as she asked, softening the stone floor.

“Merci. Keep your wand out, it will ‘elp,” Margery said, resting her hands on her lap.

Harry looked over his shoulder, Malfoy was still holding onto him, looking pale, but was not shaking as badly.

“Are you listening? I will say zis only once.” Margery cleared her throat, “Veela are very social, back when we were more beast zan man, we formed flocks with many females and one male. Ze females ‘unted, the male defended ‘is territory. It was… a bit like lions.” Margery said.

“You don’t look much like any lions I’ve seen,” Harry said.

“Lions zat fly and like to eat people,” Margery’s smile showed a few too many teeth before it softened.

“Why is this happening to me?” Draco’s asked weakly.

“Patience,” Margery chided, and went on, “We do not trust easily. Friends and family are very important to us, especially when we fledge. We are very vulnerable, very weak. We get our allure but are too weak to protect ourselves from zose drawn to it.”

Margery was silent for a moment and then asked thoughtfully, “Are…you in danger ‘ere?”

“No,” Malfoy said.

“He’s been bullied,” Harry said, “I would have stopped it sooner if I had known, but he didn’t tell anyone.”

“I hate you,” Malfoy muttered.

Margery nodded to herself, “Zat will make it worse. Zis place is not a safe place for you.”

Malfoy let out a weak humourless laugh.

Margery went on, “You need rest but cannot relax, you need sleep but are afraid, your body is trying to protect you and change at ze same time and it cannot. So it may very well kill you or damage you forever.”

Harry stiffened, a thread of alarm snaking down his spine, “Kill him?”

“Perhaps,” Margery said.

“So he needs someone he trusts, to do what?” Harry asked.

“Be by ‘is side. Protect ‘im. It is not difficult,” Margery said.

Malfoy’s hands twisted in the fabric of Harry’s jumper, pulling it tight, “There’s nothing else I can do?”

“No. You cannot change your nature. It is in your blood,” Margery said.

Malfoy sagged against Harry, and he nearly lost his balance, bracing himself clumsily against the new weight.

“Why? Why is this happening to me? I-I can’t be more than a quarter veela. My mother was _maybe_ half. Why me and not her- w-why?” Malfoy asked.

Harry could feel the back of his shirt grow damp and realised with a start that Malfoy was crying.

“There is no such zing as a ‘pure’ veela,” Margery said, her voice gentle.

“What? But that doesn’t seem… right,” Harry said.

“A pure veela was something closer to an’ harpy than a person. We started mixing with humans a long time ago. The veela zat did not died out,” Margery said. “People… zey tend to think of anyone with powers as veela.”

“Because you’re different,” Harry said.

Margery nodded, “ ‘ave you heard of Mendel’s punnet squares? Recessive and dominant genes?”

Harry vaguely remembered seeing a program on tv about them one summer when he’d been left in the house alone, he knew it related to dna pairs. He wondered if wizards knew about dna yet or if pea plant genes were as far as they had got so far. He glanced over his shoulder and Malfoy you managed a nod.

“He does,” Harry told Margery.

“Well magic is tricky but we think zat veela abilities are recessive, most of the time. If zere are veela present in both families trees, it is more likely for ze powers to develop. Ze magic population is so small… sometimes it cannot be avoided.”

Malfoy shuddered, and Harry found himself shivering in return.

“What sort of powers?” Harry asked to try and get Malfoy as much information as possible.

“Transformation; to fight, to flee, sometimes both,” Margery said with a shrug.

“And the allure?” Harry said.

“For the women, yes, zey needed it for the ‘unt,” Margery said.

“But not for the men?” Harry asked.

Margery pursed her lips for a moment, “I do not know. You ‘ave to understand…our early 'istory is made of stories passed down from mother to daughter, it is patchy, vague... what I know is veela do not ‘ave a lot of boys, it is not useful. Veela are territorial, too many males mean many small territories and everyone starves, or zey fight and kill each other for bigger territories and bigger flocks. New males often killed all children of ze last male.”

Harry stared at her.

“I said, it was like lions,” Margery said, “and zat was before. Now we are so mixed with humans most boys zat are born to veela do not change. It has been over a ‘undred years since a male veela changed and ‘e ‘ad a… primitive mindset, and ‘ad to be dealt with.”

“He was killed?” Harry said,

“It is not said so clearly in the books but, I think so,” Margery said.

“Malfoy- Draco, isn’t like that,” Harry said, “He’s not interested in- in a harem.”

“You should take care regardless. I am afraid you will find most veela will attack to defend zemselves first and ask questions later,” Margery said politely. She braced her hands on the floor and pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her robes, “Jeanne will want to be going soon.”

“That’s it? There’s nothing else you can do?” Harry said.

“I am not what ‘e needs, ‘Arry,” Margery said, “If ‘e gets worse, take ‘im to ze hospital. Zey can put ‘im in a coma and keep ‘im alive until it is done.”

“A _coma_?” Harry repeated, “That’s _it_?”

Margery reached into her robe pockets and drew out a tiny shrunken book with a red cover, the corners worn down to the grey board underneath, and handed it to Harry.

“Zat is a Beauxbaton book, It will return itself to ze library in three months so make sure you read it all before zen,” Margery said and stepped towards the door.

“How-how long will I-?” Draco asked faintly.

Margery paused with her hand on the door, looking thoughtful as she tried to parse his question, “Ze change? It is different for everyone but ze last fever is… you will know it, and zere will be little discomfort after zat.” She hesitated, looking out into the hallway and back at them, “I wish I could ‘elp more but I-” she shook her head, “I wish you luck.” Margery gave them a brief smile and left.

* * *

  
  


Draco sagged toward the floor as the veela left, his hold on Potter the only thing that kept him from collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Cut it out. I like this jumper, you know,” Potter said, grabbing one of Draco’s wrists and easing him to the floor where he sat much like the veela had. “I don’t know if McGonagall is going to come back, so I guess I’ll take you back to your room for now.”

“Go away,” Draco said.

“Sounds like a great plan. Loads of potential in that one,” Potter said sarcastically.

He swirled his wand and Draco felt a familiar wave of magic settle over him, a lightening charm-

“You-” but before Draco could tell Potter off, he had already pulled Draco arm over his shoulder, lifted him up and hooked his other arm under Draco’s knees. Potter let go of his wrist to loop it around Draco’s waist as Draco clutched Potter’s shoulder in a surge of panic. “Put- Put me down!”

“No. I don’t think I will, little bird,” Potter said, far too amused for his own good as he headed out the door.

Draco hit Potter’s chest and found it as effective as hitting the window earlier and far more embarrassing. “Put me _down_. I’ll walk,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it.

“Even if you can, I don’t think you should,” Potter said, “Not until you’ve got some strength back.”

Draco glared furiously at Potter’s neck, refusing to dignify him with a response. He grabbed handfuls of Potter’s jumper in both hands, trying to dig his fingers into the knit and stretch it out.

“I’ll drop you,” Potter said, shifting his hands abruptly and for a breath Draco felt a surge of vertigo.

“I’ll take your ugly jumper with me,” Draco said even as he loosened his grip.

“You’d be the one with a bruised arse,” Potter said.

Draco frowned at Potter’s collar bone, peeking out of the overstretched collar.

Potter carried him down the hallway back towards the tower.

“I’m not a little bird,” Draco muttered.

“Sounded like you were one to me,” Potter said. “Like a robin or-” he grinned, “a chickadee.”

“A _what_? Making up words now because you’re too stupid to-”

“It’s a type of titmouse. You know, a tit,” Potter said his grin growing, “A common little bird, noisy, territorial, fits you to a T.”

“I am _not_ a titmouse, and if I am you- you’re a _greater_ tit,” Draco said.

“Whatever you say, chickadee,” Potter said.

“You’re a raven,” Draco said, “or a crow-”

“Are you just picking out black birds?” Potter said. He paused at the base of the tower, huffed a sigh before he tightened his grip on Draco and started up the stairs.

“I was going to say blackbird,” Draco said, he fought down a yawn, his head falling against Potter’s shoulder, “they’re black _and_ common.”

“Have any others?” Potter said.

“Jackdaw,” Draco let his eyes close, “… an…a rook.”

Potter snorted. Draco could feel Potter’s heartbeat, heavy and reassuring, his voice a deep rumble caught in his chest and warm…

* * *

  
  


“What’s a jackdaw, anyway?” Harry asked but got no response. He paused mid-step and looked down at Malfoy, fallen asleep on his shoulder, a lock of fine gold-white hair slipping across his forehead. Something in his chest squeezed tight, and Harry quickly looked away, focusing on going up that last few stairs.

With the hatch left open and fire burned out Malfoy’s rooms were as cold at the air outside. Harry carried Malfoy up to the second floor, found the bedsheets already pushed back in a crumpled mess, and eased Malfoy down onto the mattress with a groan. He flexed his arms a few times, rubbing the aching muscles. Even scrawny and magically lighter than normal, Malfoy was still a pain.

Harry slid Malfoy’s shoes off his feet and tossed them onto the floor before pulling the sheets and comforter over him. Malfoy didn’t so much as twitch.

Harry looked around. There wasn’t really much else in the room, bed, wardrobe, but no chairs and he wasn’t going to climb into bed with Malfoy. That was- just, no.

He went back downstairs and threw a few logs on the fire, starting them with a charm and waiting a few minutes to make sure it caught. He closed the hatch to keep the heat in and shrunk the armchair down so he could carry it back up, resizing it beside the bed.

Harry dropped into the chair with a sigh, still trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy be put into a coma, not if he could help it. He would just have to find someone else Malfoy trusted or- or he would have to-

“thought you left,” Malfoy murmured.

Harry’s breath caught in surprise, “Thought you were asleep.”

“was,” Malfoy said, curling a hand under his pillow, “starling.”

Harry’s heart squeezed tight in his chest. He leaned forward, “What?”

“changed my mind,” Malfoy said, his voice getting softer as he drifted back to sleep, “you’re a starling.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He sat back heavily, rubbing his face and nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. He had thought- he _thought_ Malfoy said _darling_.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Draco stretched. The sheets rumpled and caught on yesterdays wrinkled clothes. He felt, still tired, but more manageably so. Less like he was going to start seeing illusory ghosts and hearing whispers and more like he just needed a day or two’s rest.

There was a sigh from the chair set beside Draco’s bed, a chair Harry Potter had apparently slept the entire night in. Draco held himself still, peeking out from under his eyelashes as Potter moved slowly, waking up with every twinging pulling muscle he moved.

Potter muffled a groan in the back of his throat as he sat forward, tilting his head and rubbing his neck with a grimace. His glasses were hopelessly smudged with fingerprint,s and his hair was loose, looking to be more tangles than curls. Draco’s hands twitched to comb his fingers through that black hair until it was smooth and soft again.

But that was a foolish thought that he had no interest in entertaining.

“That’s what you get for sleeping in a chair,” Draco said.

Potter jumped in surprise and shot him a glare.

Draco smirked.

“Shut up,” Potter muttered, looking away.

“You should have transfigured it into a cot, or slept on the couch,” Draco said, and realising what he was implying, added hurriedly, “Or left. I never said you could stay.”

“There’s no way-” Potter yawned, dragging both his hands through his hair, sweeping it back for a second before it fell back around his face, “-I was gonna leave you when you’re so weak.”

“I’m not weak,” Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes.

“ _I’m not_ ,” Draco hissed and pushed himself up.

“Are you blind? Cause I’m not,” Potter said, “and _right now_ you are, Malfoy. Are you really so proud you’d rather die than ask for help? Because that worked so well in the past.”

Potter’s head smacked back into the chair with a satisfying thump as Draco hit him with his pillow as hard as he could. He threw back his bedsheets as Potter was sputtering and headed down the stairs. He desperately wanted to take a bath, but there were more important things to do first. He was starving.

“Where are you going!?” Potter shouted after him.

Draco ignored him, beelining to the table where the house elves had helpfully delivered food enough for both of them. He sat on the edge of the couch and grabbed a scone breaking it in half with his hands. He smeared it with butter and so much jam it dripped from the sides and Draco had to lick it from his fingers. He glanced up after finishing the first scone to see Potter staring at him wide-eyed and grabbed another scone, eating it as quickly as the first.

Potter cleared his throat and looked down at his feet.

“Hypocrite” Draco said between bites.

“What?” Potter’s head jerked up.

“About asking for help. You didn’t.”

Potter narrowed his eyes, “I couldn’t. I didn’t know who to trust and those that I could, they were- they were risking themselves enough as it was.”

Draco rolled his eyes with as much disdain as he could and took the last scone, “So who was I supposed to trust again? My death eater father? Or maybe my death eater aunt? Or maybe one of the other death eaters living in my house? One of those?”

Potter sighed and sat on the other end of the couch, “There has to be someone you trust other than- there’s your mother.”

Draco barely spared Potter a glance before looking back at his plate, focusing on eating.

“The more people we can find who you trust, the better, that’s what Margery said.”

“Who?” Draco asked.

“Margery. The veela who talked to us yesterday,” Potter said. He absently searched his pockets and took out a tiny red book that he resized and held up triumphantly, “She gave you this.”

“At the time I was a bit busy thinking I was going to die,” Draco said flatly.

“She wasn’t going to hurt you,” Potter said.

Draco felt unexpectedly hurt, “You don’t know.”

“She helped, she told you all-”

Draco hit the table so hard the dishes clattered, “You don’t know how it _felt!_ Don’t act like you know what I- I’m-!” he glared furiously at his fist, lips pressed together in a tight line as he fought the ache in his eyes.

Potter was silent until Draco unclenched his hand and picked up his fork again.

“Erm, that’s- right,” Potter said pointlessly.

Draco ignored him.

“So, erm, getting back to the-” Potter cleared his throat, “You trust your mother and, and your friends-?”

“No and no,” Draco said sullenly.

Potter frowned at him, “Your mother lied to Voldemort for you, she bound Snape to an unbreakable vow to help you.”

Draco only just managed to keep from emptying the pitcher of pumpkin juice over Potter’s head. He filled his glass instead and drank it quickly

“Malfoy. If we can’t find someone you trust you’re going to get weaker and-”

Draco slammed his glass back down.

Potter stared at him silently then settled back into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _What_?” Draco hissed.

“I’m not leaving, chickadee,” Potter said.

Draco stiffened, his hand going to his pocket and then his other and freezing in alarm.

“Looking for this?” Potter said, drawing just the handle of Draco’s wand from his sleeve before pushing it back inside.

“Give me-”

“No,” Potter said, “One, you’re being a fucking idiot, and two, you probably shouldn’t be doing any sort of magic for a while.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Draco said, his voice low.

Potter rolled his eyes, “Hurt me, yeah maybe, but you don’t have it in you for more than that. You’re going to have to do a lot worse than be a prick to chase me off.”

Draco tightened his grip on his fork and considered his options: stab Potter in the hand or thigh?

“We get through this, and then everything will go back to normal,” Potter said with such conviction it made Draco’s stomach ache with sudden nausea.

Draco stared at him, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, “…for you maybe. It’s never going to-”

Potter’s brow furrowed in confusion but Draco didn’t wait to hear what sort of moronic drivel would come out of his mouth next. He threw the fork on the table and stood, walking around the back of the couch, and hurried upstairs. The bathroom door didn’t have a lock, but it appeared Potter had learned not to barge into bathrooms where he was unwelcome.

Draco turned on the taps of the large clawfoot bathtub, throwing his clothes onto the floor where he stood and lowering himself into the hot water with a shudder. He slid down until the water lapped around his chin and stared at his feet poking above the water. There was a small scar near his big toe where he had cut his foot on a nail trying slip through a fence on the edge of the manor lands when he was seven. He had hidden it from his mother so he wouldn’t get scolded and ended up with a scar to show for it.  


He was still him. He had that if nothing else.

  


* * *

  


  
  


Harry could hear the water turn on above him and sighed, shifting over on the couch. Malfoy had left him half the eggs and toast and a single piece of bacon. Harry grabbed Hermione’s notebook from the floor and flipped to the back page, eating his rather paltry breakfast as he started a list of everyone Malfoy might trust. It was a short list. And if Malfoy wasn’t lying about not trusting his mother, it wasn’t a list Harry had much faith in.

When the list was finished, Harry turned back to the front of the notebook, finding where the ink was still filling in along with Hermione’s notes, to see what he was missing in charms. He did his best to try and keep up with the notes, but it was a lecture day with no practical work, and his stupid bloody imagination kept going back to Malfoy and his tongue catching strawberry jam from his fingers, pink and wet-

Harry shook his head and grabbed another book at random, flipping it open and started reading. He read about the little mermaid, who fell in love with a human man. She traded her voice for a pair of legs and a warning, or perhaps a curse, that she would die if she ever went back to the ocean. She tried to win him over, but when he chooses another, she went back to the sea and turned into seafoam as soon as the water touched her skin.

Harry put the book aside when he heard the floor overhead creaking and grabbed his list. But Malfoy didn’t come back down. Harry went upstairs and found him curled up back in bed.

“I thought you left,” Malfoy said.

“I didn’t, we need to figure out who you trust,” Harry said impatiently, “Your parents?”

“No,” Malfoy said flatly.

“What about your friends, Parkinson, Zabini, uh… Nott?”

“I said _no_ ,” Malfoy muttered, “now fuck _off_.”

Harry sighed, “What about… Goyle?”

Malfoy spared him a brief look of utter contempt and then rolled onto his side, away from Harry, “There’s no one.”

Harry shifted his weight uneasily, “…there’s me.”

Malfoy shoulder twitched like a barely suppressed flinch, and he curled in closer to the mattress. “I don’t want…” His voice was threaded with cracks, breaking on his words, “…go martyr yourself somewhere else.”

* * *

  
  


Harry went back down to the stairs, adding wood the fire and then stood there. He was tired of Malfoy’s everything- the utter bullshit of it all, but he wasn’t- he couldn’t leave if he was the only thing between Malfoy and being forced to the hospital.

He decided to wait until lunch so Malfoy could sleep a little longer when he heard the hatch open behind him and spun around.

“Calm yourself, Harry,” McGonagall said, she floated up the last few steps and slipped off an old racing broom.

“Professor,” Harry said, putting his wand away a bit sheepishly

“If anyone is going to be surprised in this situation, it’s me. I wasn’t expecting anyone but Mr Malfoy up here,” McGonagall said, leaning the broom against the wall.

“Malfoy was- erm, he needs someone around to... watch his back, or he can't sleep,” Harry said, feeling unexpectedly flushed and speaking a little too fast.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

“The uh, veela teacher, Margery said it was like instinct,” Harry said, “So I was going to stay over, during the nights to- to make sure he could sleep.”

Both of McGonagall’s eyebrows were raised.

Harry felt slightly bewildered himself, he hadn’t known he’d decided such a thing, but here apparently he had.

“I’m sure there would be someone willing to do such a thing who isn’t studying for their NEWT’s at the moment,” McGonagall said.

“No!” Harry blurted, his face growing hotter by the moment, “It has to be me. It- It’s fine.”

“Hm.” McGonagall pursed her lips into a thin line, “…Is he upstairs?”

“Malfoy?”

“Yes, Draco Malfoy,” McGonagall said, sounding ever so slightly amused.

“Yeah, he is,”Harry said awkwardly and managed to wait until McGonagall was out of sight before he collapsed onto the couch in utter embarrassment.

* * *

  
  


Draco had felt McGonagall coming up the tower and sat up when she finished talking with Potter, rubbing his eyes and face, and trying not to yawn.

“I apologise for disturbing you,” McGonagall said, walking over to his bed, “And I’m sorry for leaving you waiting for so long. The Ministry expected you to be in France yesterday and were especially unhelpful when I went back to inform them you weren’t going to be leaving after all.”

“They were probably looking forward to getting rid of me,” Draco said, “and you ruined their fun.”

“They aren’t meant to be having fun or engaging in petty squabbles. They are _meant_ to be doing their jobs,” McGonagall said with the severely disappointed tone that regularly put first years on the verge of tears. She glanced around the small room and then sat down on the edge of the chair, “New plans need making. Harry said you spoke to the… more agreeable teacher from Beauxbaton.”

Draco nodded.

“Did you find out anything helpful? Harry said that you needed someone to watch you so you could sleep,” McGonagall said.

Draco blinked. He had missed some of what the veela said, especially in the beginning, but it was a bit more complicated than that. Draco explained what he remembered, about needing someone he trusted to stay by his side and how if he couldn’t find someone like that his next best choice would be a magically induced coma.

McGonagall nodded along as he spoke, easing herself back into the chair, “…I see. That makes things both simpler, and more complicated seeing as your parents and your friends are on the mainland.” She sighed, “Perhaps I was too hasty in going to Ministry. But I was afraid that they would… _overreact_ if they thought you had left and were in fact still here…”

Draco shook his head, “It’s not-”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows with a questioning, “Hm?”

“…I don’t trust any of them,” Draco said quietly. He looked down at his hands, threading his fingers together into a tangle.

McGonagall frowned slightly, “I seem to recall you having a rather large friend group while at school.”

“They’re not that kind of friend,” Draco said, “you couldn’t get too close because then they could use that to manipulate you.”

“That seems exceptionally cynical. Surely not all of them felt that way.”

Draco shrugged, “It’s- My father always said- I don’t know. I just assumed, and I never got close enough to find out.”

“What about your parents? You were always close to them,” McGonagall said.

Draco smiled bitterly at the sheets, “Father chose power over us, and Mother… she always chooses him. It wasn’t until the end that-” the words caught in his throat, “-she was my mother, and she let it- we could’ve run away, so many times…”

McGonagall leaned forward, putting her hand on the edge of the bed like she meant to pat his hand reassuringly but changed her mind at the last moment, “I understand. You don’t have to dredge up any more painful memories.”

Draco nodded.

“Then Harry misunderstand what you needed,” McGonagall said.

Draco hesitated, feeling his face grow hot with embarrassment, “…he- he didn’t.”

McGonagall was quiet for a few seconds, “You trust him?”

Draco managed a faint nod.

“But… he very nearly killed you,” McGonagall said, “and he disfigured you, to a certain extent, with the scarring.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat, “You knew?”

“I have tea with Poppy in the infirmary on occasion, and I happened to do so the night the incident happened.” McGonagall frowned deeply, “I find it hard to believe that you would trust Harry after that.”

“He pulled me from the fire during the battle… he- he could have left me, it- he could have died trying to save me, and he did it anyway,” Draco shrugged helplessly, “I just- I know that he would save me because I think he’d try to save anyone. He tried to get the dark lord to- it’s stupid. How can one person be so stupid?”

McGonagall sighed, “I prefer the term overly generous, myself.”

Draco was fairly certain they were the same thing.

“Do you trust me?”

Draco blinked in surprise, “Professor?”

McGonagall waited for his response.

“…I trust you, just… not with my life,” Draco said honestly.

McGonagall nodded, “So. How do you want to proceed?”

“How- me?” Draco said.

“Yes,” McGonagall said, “I know you don’t have a lot of options right now, but they are yours to make. There is Harry. And while you don’t trust me, I would be willing to try and earn that trust or perhaps forge some sort of temporary binding contract for the duration of your change. I feel fairly certain, for all her faults, your mother would do the same. And, of course, there is the hospital wing; I trust Poppy to be quite adept enough to look after you if a medical intervention were necessary.”

“I don’t want Potter’s help,” Draco said.

“Then we can-”

“I don’t want him saving me,” Draco said, “I don’t want to owe him anything-”

“Perhaps-”

“My debts are enough already without- without adding to them,” Draco said.

McGonagall held up a hand for him to stop, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Yes, yes, I see.”

“You do?” Draco said.

“Yes, now let me see… how would Severus handle this…Oh, course,” McGonagall said, “Harry still intends to become an auror once he graduates but his performance so far this year has been… well, he will need a lot of help to get all O’s at this rate.”

She nodded to herself and went on, “Harry would be just…loitering about, while you could be responsible for his entire future. It would not be a great leap to say _he_ would owe _you_ in such a situation.”

Draco laughed despite himself, “You make a terrible Slytherin.”

McGonagall smiled slightly, “It’s not exactly my natural inclination. So, if you are amenable, I think Harry should come here after dinner, and the two of you can keep up on your schoolwork together. If it doesn’t work out, _for any reason_ , we can try something else.”

“…okay.”

“Any reason,” McGonagall said firmly.

Draco nodded.

McGonagall stood up, straightening her robes, “I shall have a cot set up for Harry-”

“Downstairs,” Draco said, “The desk could go up here so there would be room behind the couch.”

“Yes?”

“I just want space for myself,” Draco said.

“That’s perfectly reasonable. Is there anything else I can do for you?” McGonagall asked.

“More food,” Draco said immediately, “What the elves send now isn’t enough.”

“You are a growing boy,” McGonagall said, trying not to smile.

Draco rolled his eyes.

”I’ll have the house elves double your portions, will that be adequate?” McGonagall said

“Yes.”

“Is that all?” McGonagall asked.

Draco nodded, dropping back into his pillow.

McGonagall started back down the stairs.

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly.

McGonagall glanced back, “You’re quite welcome, Draco.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Harry's new cot was covered with spells that made it as soft and comfortable as sleeping on a cloud, but it was still a narrow little cot.

The first night Harry was in the tower, Draco awoke with a start from a loud thump from downstairs, followed a string of muttered curses as Potter got up off the floor and back onto the cot, and Draco laughed himself back to sleep.

* * *

  
  


Potter came up after dinner. Well most nights, he came up right after dinner. Sometimes Potter was late. Once he was very late. Draco did not think about what Potter might be doing when he was not in the tower.

When Draco was feeling charitable, which wasn’t often, he assumed Potter must be spending time with his friends. Most of the time, he imagined Potter must be spending time with his many admirers or was getting reacquainted with the Weaselette. Not that Draco could blame him, all he and Potter did together was study, mostly in silence.

Occasionally, Draco asked Potter a question about one of the day’s lectures, which he was woefully bad at answering. Sometimes Potter asked Draco questions if they were working on an assignment.

It wasn’t bad. They didn’t argue. They didn’t talk enough to argue.

Draco had just thought-

Had _hoped_ -

For foolish things.

Everything was perfectly fine as it was.

He could keep up with his studies.

Potter could get any books he needed from the library.

And he could practise the spellwork.

* * *

  
  


“This isn’t a difficult question, Potter,” Draco said impatiently, “is it a half-circle twist or a quarter?”

Potter looked at his wand with a rather bewildered expression. He turned and aimed at the conjured piglet sitting under the window and wordlessly turned it into a parakeet, still pink as a pigs bottom, “It’s like that.”

“Which is?” Draco asked.

Potter brushed back a few locks of his fringe that had fallen into his eyes, “If I think about it too much I can’t do it. It’s muscle memory, not something I can sketch a diagram of!”

“You must have known when you learned it!” Draco said, throwing up his hands.

“I watch the professor cast it, I watch Hermione cast it and I just-,” Potter shrugged, “-figure it out. I mean sometimes it takes a while, but that’s how I’ve always done it.”

Draco frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How do you do it then, if it’s so different?” Potter asked, leaning against the back of the couch.

“I _listen_ when the professors _explain_ the wand movements,” Draco said.

“So did I when I was eleven,” Potter said tartly.

Draco felt himself start to flush and turned away, “You’re utterly useless, and this is a waste of time.”

“Good grief, I thought you were right behind Hermione in score, weren’t you?” Potter said.

“I am- I will be once I’m back in class,” Draco said.

Potter waved a hand, “Then just do what you always do-”

“I am _trying_. I normally have a competent teacher,” Draco shot back, “and full access to the library-”

“I‘ll get you any books you want,” Potter interrupted.

“Oh, _shut up_!” Draco snapped.

Potter sighed and rolled his eyes.

Draco picked up Granger’s notebook, scanning through the notes for that day, but apparently it hadn’t been something Granger considered important either. Everything was so much easier when he could actually be in class and had enough time to study and practise until he had everything memorised. Of course, that only worked if he wasn’t fighting against short-lived fevers that none-the-less sapped his strength and forced him back to bed for most of the day.

His two major fevers had been a month apart, so Draco estimated he had about a week or so before he had another.

“Come on, I thought we were taking a break from studying,” Potter said.

“We were until you proved to be useless,” Draco muttered, still looking at the page of notes so he wouldn’t have to look at Potter.

Potter vanished the parakeet and conjured another piglet, this one had just enough intelligence to start walking in a circle, slowly chasing its tail in an endless loop, “Come on, chickadee, don’t give up.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco snapped, dropping the notebook back onto the table.

Potter smirked.

“One more time,” Draco said, waving for Potter to cast the spell again.

Potter raised his wand and Draco walked up behind him, placing his hand over Potter’s.

Potter froze.

“Cast the spell,” Draco said, keeping his eyes trained on their hands.

“Errm,” Potter said

“You’re not going to use my condition as an excuse,” Draco said stiffly.

Potter’s brow furrowed, “It’s not a condition. It’s just you.”

Draco felt a flare of anger in his chest, and where usually he would snarl of frustration, Draco hissed, dry and deep and utterly terrifying.

Potter jerked away, his eyes wide.

Draco remained where he was, utterly frozen in horror.

“See, it’s you,” Potter said, sounding far too calm.

Draco slowly pulled his hand back, pressing it to his chest to try and stop its shaking.

“You sound like an owl,” Potter said lightly. He stepped back in front of Draco and pointed his wand at the piglet, “Come on.”

When Draco didn’t respond, Potter glanced back over his shoulder, “You want to learn this spell, right?”

Draco reached back out, putting his hand over Potter’s feeling numb. Potter cast the spell again, a half-circle twist with an upward twitch at the end. The piglet turned into a beautiful green parakeet that promptly began walking in a circle.

Potter grinned, pocketing his wand, “You got it this time?”

Draco nodded.

“That’s the best I’ve done so far. Hermione wouldn’t stop harping on me getting the colour wrong,” Potter went on, walking back to the couch and dropping himself heavily on the cushions, “You want to get back to studying?”

“No,” Draco said roughly and cleared his throat before going on, “I- I’m feeling tired. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

“Alright, I’ll be quiet when I use the loo,” Potter said as if he was ever quieter than a herd of centaurs.

Draco nodded and headed up the stairs.

“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend-”

“I can’t go, but thank you ever so much for rubbing it in my face,” Draco muttered.

“I was going to ask if you wanted anything!” Potter shouted after him, adding a quieter, “tit,” that was still just loud enough to make out.

Draco collapsed onto his bed, grabbing his pillow and squeezing it tightly to his chest.

* * *

  
  


“Mate! Harry!”

Harry looked around the rowdy crowd of students moving down Hogsmeade's main street until he spotted Ron's shock of red hair floating above it all and waved him over.

Ron pushed through, Hermione at his back, and the three of them slowly made their way down the street to where it was less crowded, and they could hear one another talk without shouting over the noise.

“Been shopping?” Harry said, looking at the two heavy bags Ron was carrying.

“Books and quills, study stuff,” Ron said gesturing to Hermione.

“I said, I’d carry them myself,” Hermione said.

Ron smiled, “Nah, I got it. Besides you don’t let me dote on you very often.”

Hermione flushed, “I’m not used to it is all. I like to take care of myself.”

“And I like that you take care of yourself, I just want to help sometimes,” Ron said.

“Fine…,” Hermione said grudgingly. “But I am _not_ a damsel in distress, and I don’t _need_ you to carry anything for me.”

Ron nodded, “Course, Mione. No need to hex a flock of birds after me.”

“That was _one_ time,” Hermione said.

“Just teasing,” Ron said.

Hermione huffed a sigh at them and asked, “What have you been doing, Harry? You left at the same time as us, I thought for sure we would see you sooner than this.”

“I was, uhh, asking around, talking to people,” Harry said, shrugging one shoulder, “I wanted to find out more about the wolf rumours.”

Ron and Hermione looked at one another, and Harry wanted to groan.

“That’s, well, I was curious too-” Ron started.

“But it’s Hogsmeade, we’re meant to be enjoying ourselves-” Hermione said.

“It’s more of the aurors job to figure those sorts of things out-”

“ _And_ it’s just a rumour.” Hermione finished.

Harry gave them a look he hoped expressed his complete disagreement with all points, “First off, it’s not just a rumour.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“The witches that own the grocers, Tabitha and Bonny, they take a walk every morning and about a week ago they saw something like a large grey dog or a wolf,“ Harry said, "They watched it walk into the forest, kind of staggering and weaving like it was hurt or sick.”

“Could just be a dog?” Ron said, looking at Hermione without much conviction.

Hermione sighed, “Look if it is a-” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “-werewolf. What can we even do?”

“Warn people,” Harry said, “but I don’t want to be accused of lying again-”

“Crying wolf?” Ron suggested.

Harry glared at him half-heartedly.

“What? It was right there!”

Harry went on, “ _So_ I was going to go look around the forest where the witches saw him and look for clues, prints, fur, something.”

“You’re not going to find prints,” Hermione said, “The ground is frozen.”

“But it was raining just last week and only got really cold recently, maybe it was still soft before and then froze, that would preserve the prints even better,” Ron said.

Hermione gasped, “Oh, that’s brilliant!”

Ron grinned.

Harry smiled tentatively, “So you’ll help me?”

“Course we will, mate,” Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder, “Just got to stop in at Honeydukes and then we can search together.”

“Alright, thanks,” Harry said gratefully, “I’ll come with. I was thinking of maybe buying some sweets.”

* * *

  
  


Harry sighed as the wizard at the till slowly rang up his order, too busy glancing at Harry and blushing to punch in the numbers. His hair was a dirty blond that caught the lamplight strangely so it looked slightly brighter, slightly golden. Harry was trying very hard not to make any eye contact whatsoever, but the flashes of pale blond kept catching his eye, and Harry was afraid he was quickly giving the entirely wrong impression to the bloke.

Not that it took much with most people that thought he was some sort of hero.

Harry felt a familiar weight drape over his back as Ron leaned against him, groaning dramatically, “Are you done yet?”

“Almost,” Harry said.

“It’s been ages!” Ron said, his voice carrying over the crowd.

The blond wizard flushed and began ringing Harry up a lot quicker.

Harry grabbed a random handful of coins from his pocket, dropping them on the counter for the clerk to sort out, “We’ll be leaving- ah fuck!” he staggered against the counter, holding the edge to keep upright as another weight was added to his back only to let up a moment later.

“You almost crushed Harry, Mione,” Ron said, standing up and slinging an arm around her shoulder.

Hermione was glaring behind her, “Not on purpose. Someone bumped into me.”

Ron nodded, tapping Harry on his shoulder, “It's pretty crowded in here. We’ll wait outside for you.”

The clerk held out a bag in one hand and a handful of small change in the other which Harry snatched up and hurried after his friends before the wake of their passing closed up and he had to push through the throng of students himself. He sighed in relief as he stepped outside.

They walked back toward the forest near the road that led back to Hogwarts. Harry stopped on the corner, trying to find his pocket to put the handful of coins away, and missing, and dropping most of them on the ground.

Ron took his bag so Harry could draw his wand, summoning the sickles and knuts and putting them away.

Hermione leaned over and picked up something else from the grass, a small slip of parchment, “You dropped this-” She turned it in her hands to read it, “…I think that cashier wants you to owl him.”

“Huh?” Harry said distractedly, putting his wand back up his sleeve.

“That bloke at Honeydukes wants you to owl him. He wasn’t bad looking,” Hermione repeated.

“Have an eye for that sort of bloke do you?” Ron said, sounding like he might be jealous depending on the answer.

Hermione elbowed him in the side, “I’m _trying_ to help.”

“So you-”

“No,” Hermione said firmly, “If anyone is going to be jealous about other people, it’s going to be me with all the letters and looks you get.”

“Don’t worry about them, you’re the only one for me, Hermione,” Ron said, his face going red with the ordeal of being utterly truly honest. “I think you’re perfect.”

Harry sighed.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, looking equally embarrassed, “You’re the only one who thinks that. I know my personality can be… rather difficult and how lucky I am and how happy I am. So there’s no point in worrying,” Hermione said.

Harry sighed again, rather louder this time, “You’ve had this conversation at least five times already.”

Hermione shook her head, “Unlike some people, we talk about our problems so we can fix them.”

Ron winced, “Hermione, that was a bit-”

“Sorry,” Hermione said quickly before Ron could finish. “Anyway, you’ve been broken up with Ginny for a long time, and it wasn’t really- it’s time to move on, is all.” She held out the slip of parchment, “It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“I’m not hung up over Gin. I’m just not interested. Especially in people who only care about my being a ‘hero’” Harry said, taking the parchment, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it away.

“You are a hero, mate,” Ron said.

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry said.

Ron laughed, “It’s true, though.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ron held up Harry’s Honeydukes bag, “Besides, there’s already someone else, right?”

“What?” Harry said

“What?” Hermione echoed.

Ron frowned, looking thrown off. He held the bag open, “Fancy chocolates? Liquorice wands? Ice mice? You’re more chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes. You don’t even like liquorice?” He narrowed his eyes, “Are you really Harry?”

“ _Yes_. They’re for…” Harry sighed, “They’re for Malfoy because he can’t come.”

Ron’s eyebrows rose in further disbelief.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Go on, check anyway.”

Hermione cast a few spells over him, “No polyjuice or glamours.”

“He’s still sick then,” Ron said slowly.

Harry nodded.

Ron looked thoughtful, “So you li-”

“Is it an inherited condition?” Hermione asked.

“What-?” Harry shook his head, “Hermione, I’m not going to talk about Malfoy’s personal medical stuff.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I’m just curious and that’s hardly personal. I mean if it’s gone on this long and it’s not contagious then it’s most likely genetic-”

“ _Hermione_. You’re going to be St Mungo’s best healer in no time at all, but you aren’t now so leave off,” Harry said with as much patience as he could manage.

Hermione frowned, but before she could dig in her heels, Ron put an arm over her shoulder, “Come on, you can tell me all your theories about Malfoy while we look for werewolf bits.”

* * *

  
  


Harry led the way to where the witches had pointed out seeing the animal, and they did their best to walk along the forest edge, an arms-length apart, scanning ground and brush for any signs of- anything.

Just as it was starting to get dark, they found them, large paw prints frozen into the ground.

Together they transfigured some branches into rough wooden boards and leaves into plaster to make a cast of the prints. They used as much magic as they dared to speed the drying, working under wandlight as the light faded.

They got back just before curfew, following the last of the students inside with a large plaster cast, hidden from sight under Harry’s invisibility cloak.

* * *

  
  


Draco was just resting his eyes. Just for a moment. But he seemed to have lost a chunk of time to sleep when he woke in a drowse to Potter standing by his bed, carefully moving the books and notes Draco had left strewn across his bedspread.

“I was studying,” Draco said, pulling his eyes open.

Potter flinched in surprise and frowned at him, “Stop doing that.”

“It’s not on purpose.” Draco smiled faintly, “Sometimes.”

Potter hesitated, then took the last piece parchment, making a small pile and setting on the chair beside his bed, “Running a fever again?”

“How did you guess?” Draco said, intending to sound sarcastic and not quite managing the proper tone.

“You turn pink,” Potter said. He lifted his hand and brushed Draco forehead with the back of his fingers.

His skin was cool, and Draco leaned into it without thinking.

“You look a bit boiled, to be honest.”

Draco frowned at him though it might have been more of a pout, “Wrong. You’re supposed to say I’m beautiful.”

“You’re a veela, that goes without saying,” Potter said.

“But I don’t want to be,” Draco said.

“Not all bad is it? You’ve always liked pushing people around and manipulating them,” Potter said blandly.

Draco wished Potter sounded more upset about that. Draco was. He had just been playing pretend at being his father, with none of the subtlety and all the cruelty.

“I don’t want to be,” Draco repeated in a small voice.

Potter ran his hand through his hair. The tie that had just barely been keeping it pulled back fell out and disappeared beneath the bed. “I got you this,” Potter set a paper bag on the chair, “since I never got to ask you properly.”

“…is it nice?” Draco asked.

“I- yeah, yes,” Potter said, stumbling over his words, “yes, it’s nice.”

Draco nodded.

Potter sighed, “Are you always… like this when you’re sick?”

“Don’t know,” Draco said, shifting his cheek against the pillow, “I always took a potion, and it went away.”

“Yeah but there must have been times when your parents didn’t catch it right away so you- had to be sick a little, sometimes,” Potter said.

Draco didn’t really remember that ever happening. There was always an elf watching him, and plenty of potions on hand. “I turn pink,” Draco said with what seemed like a perfectly logical conclusion to the question.

Potter bit his lip, and then turned on his heel, “Get some sleep.”

Draco watched until he couldn’t see Potter anymore and then let his eyes drift shut again.

* * *

  
  


Draco woke slowly, even as he grasped after the sleep slowly being drawn away, moving further and further with every step Potter took away from him.

He groaned and stretched and lay in bed until he couldn’t any longer and dragged himself up, getting ready for the day. He dressed, in black trousers tailored to fit, a white dress shirt that he carefully buttoned by hand, tucking it in before fastening the cuffs and straightening his collar. He carried his socks and shoes to the chair and paused at the pile there sitting on the cushion.

Draco had thought… it had been a dream. A dream made _sense_.

He picked up the bag and held his breath a little as he opened it, expecting the worst and finding... sweets.

Draco dumped it out on the bed and sorted them out so he could look at them all neatly laid out. Liquorice wands, ice mice, sugar quills, and a box of chocolates, one of the nicest Honeydukes carried though it was still subpar compared to the chocolates his mother would send him. But it was- it was all things he liked, and it was… something. It had to _mean_ something.

Draco stared at the little collection for longer than he would ever admit before moving the pile of notes out of the chair and sitting down, pulling on his socks and shoes, tugging the laces until they were perfectly tight. A flash of blue caught his eye, and he leaned forward, reaching under bed, and picked up a pale blue elastic hair-band. The blue had begun to pull free from the glued edge, exposing the white elastic underneath. A single black hair was tangled around it.

Draco ran his thumb over the fabric and then slipped the band around his wrist, pushing it down so his shirt cuffs would hide it. He very much didn’t think about it as he went downstairs or the entire time he ate breakfast. He also didn’t keep touching the line of it under his shirt, feeling foolish the whole time.

He stood, mentally preparing himself for another day of studying and bumped into the couch as he stretched his arms above his head. Something fell over. Something heavy…

Draco walked to the end of the sofa and the source of the sound, finding the corner of something white, mostly covered with Potter’s invisibility cloak. He knelt down, pulling the silvery cloth off of a rectangle of plaster, which showed a line of animal prints...a dog? No. Draco stretched out his hand over the clearest paw print, finger to palm, they were the same size. Not a dog.

A shiver went up Draco’s spine. The beast of a dog that Hagrid kept, it had been massive, but even its paws weren’t _this_ big. But Draco remembered, just last year, seeing a paw print that looked just like this and shivered again.

He felt the prickle in the back of his mind announcing Potter's return and quickly wrapped the cloak back around the plaster cast, leaning it back against the couch before he could even hear Potter’s footsteps. He sat back down, picking up his fork and pretended to still be eating as Potter came into the room, looking winded and not at all pleased to see him.

“Oh.” Potter said, “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

Draco stared at him, “And how would I do that?”

“You- oh,” Potter said and blinked, “So… you always wake up right after I leave?”

“That is how it works, yes,” Draco said flatly.

Potter stood there, looking lost and like he had forgotten how to hold his arms without it looking stiff and strange.

“Was there something you needed?” Draco prompted him.

Potter twitched and nodded with relief, “I- yeah, I just forgot something.” He hesitated and then gathered up the bundle from the end of the couch, his hands carefully keeping the cloak wrapped around it.

“What’s that?” Draco asked with forced nonchalance.

Luckily for him, Potter was too agitated to notice, “Nothing, really.”

“If it’s nothing, why is it wrapped in your cloak?” Draco asked.

“It’s just… something I borrowed from Slughorn, and I figured I’d return it before class,” Potter said, turning towards the hatch, “so I’d better hurry.”

Draco made some sort of absent-minded noise in agreement and watched Potter retreat down the stairs.

The lie would have been fairly good if Draco didn’t know what was under the cloak. Potter could have said Hagrid or Quintquick, the new Defense teacher, Draco might have even believed McGonagall, but not Slughorn. _And_ he knew it was Potter’s free period.

Draco went back upstairs. He put his notes back on the bed and collected the boxes and foil packets of candy one by one, setting them aside.

It was pity.

Potter said he was weak. And he knew Draco needed him.

Pity made sense.

Draco sighed, pushing down the mess of emotions choking through his gut and up his throat. He picked up Granger notebook and his textbook for Charms. It was what he got for being foolish. He wasn’t going to think about it. He wasn’t.

* * *

  
  


McGonagall’s brow furrowed as she looked over the plaster cast of the wolf prints on the desk in her office. She pursed her lips and tapped her chin and finally said, “I see.”

Which wasn’t at all what Harry had been expecting.

“What-? But it’s- They’re wolf prints, from right by Hogsmeade and the road leading the Hogwarts!” Harry said, “People saw the wolf-!”

“Or a large dog,” McGonagall said, still studying the cast. “You said yourself they thought it could be.”

“Greyback escaped auror custody after the battle of Hogwarts,” Harry said.

“And was tracked to several towns away, nearly thirty miles, last seen heading deeper into the mountainous regions of the north,” McGonagall said.

“He could have come back,” Harry said impatiently, “What’s there to eat up there, anyway, bats?”

McGonagall pushed her glasses higher on her nose, “Your concern is commendable-”

“There’s a _but,_ isn't there,” Harry said.

McGonagall smiled faintly, “- _but_ , despite all the goodwill you have cultivated by sharing Remus’ story, there is still a great deal of prejudice against werewolves. And during the war, there were even more people afflicted with the condition."

Harry grimaced, seeing where this was headed.

“If we were to warn the school and the town that there is a werewolf nearby that means to harm them, it could have dire ramifications,” McGonagall said, “Has Binn’s covered the werewolf hunts of the sixteenth century?”

Harry hesitated, “Maybe?”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, “You would do well to pay closer attention to your classes. This is a very important time for you.”

“You sound like Hermione,” Harry said.

“That’s because she’s correct,” McGonagall said. She cleared her throat, “As I was saying, during the time muggles were hunting down and burning witches, the magical community became obsessed with ridding itself of werewolves. There was a belief amongst some that werewolves killing muggles and their animals was the cause of the witch hunts. Of course, that wasn’t true, they were just looking for someone to blame.”

“Erm-”

McGonagall silenced Harry with a stern look, “The point being, that werewolves are only easily identified during the full moon and look like anyone else the rest of the time. And much like the muggles hunting witches, the magical community began looking for scapegoats, for anyone who didn’t fit in quite right.”

Harry’s stomach sank, “You don’t mean-”

“Half-breeds mostly, but veela, centaurs, goblins, merfolk, and anyone else who stood out,” McGonagall said.

“But why? They weren’t- it wasn’t what they wanted, there had to be a better solution,” Harry said.

“In my experience," McGonagall said picking her words with care, "people tend to be… quite a bit crueller and stupider when they are in large groups. Once a mob is formed, it often will not rest until it has seen it’s objective through, sometimes at great cost.”

Harry swallowed hard.

“Luckily, this isn’t the sixteenth century, people are kinder and more level-headed now and with every generation that passes. But it is still a risk I do not wish to take,” McGonagall said.

“Is there anything we can do?” Harry asked, frowning at the plaster paw prints.

“There are some things _I_ can do,” McGonagall said firmly. “I admire your tenacity, Harry, but you really must graduate this year.”

Harry grinned faintly, “What? Don’t want to see me again next fall?”

McGonagall sighed and shook her head, “I have no doubt I will see you, but I have no need to see you as a student. I’m certain you have other things to do.”

Harry laughed shortly and nodded, “So, well… what are you going to do?”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, “I believe I said I would-

“I just want to know,” Harry said hurriedly, “I’m not going to do anything. I mean, not if I know. It’s more likely I’ll try something if I don’t.”

McGonagall said, “…Albus always felt it was best not to tell you things.”

Harry’s stomach sank.

“-I never agreed. So, very well-”

Harry grinned.

“Speaking of history, beasts of war were fairly common few hundred years ago, animals that were transfigured in terrible monstrous things, made to fight or act as guard animals. They were outlawed, rightly so, because they were inhumane and quite horrifying. However, it is no great leap to assume Voldemort would disregard such laws and make one,” McGonagall nodded to herself, “I shall inform the teachers and prefects of the threat as well as the town council and aurors. That way, everyone can be prepared without making prejudices any worse.”

She took out her wand and shrunk down the plaster cast, “I shall keep this in my office for now where it won’t be stumbled upon. Once this problem is seen through perhaps Quinlan Quintquick could find a use for it in her lessons.”

“But...” Harry said, “everything you just said-”

“I know, it seems like a contradiction, but a transformed werewolf is dangerous without wolfsbane. If any of my students are attacked by, any sort of creature, I want them to be able to defend themselves.” McGonagall said, putting the wolf prints in her robe pocket, “You don’t have to worry about an innocent person being killed. It’s extremely difficult to kill a werewolf. Magical creatures are resistant to magic, so bodily effect spells, stunning, cutting spells, and the sort don’t work nearly as well.”

“So what do you do then? To protect yourself?” Harry asked.

“A conjured net or chain around the legs, both for preference,” McGonagall said, “And then you run.”

* * *

  
  


Draco walked. He felt restless. Uncomfortable in his own skin. He could only stand for ten minutes at most before he had to move, pacing in the gap between the couch and Potter’s cot. He read as he walked but only managed a few sentences at a time before the twitching itching feeling would force him to flex his shoulders and back, running his hands over his arms, scratching at twitching itches that faded without the satisfaction of being scratched.

By lunchtime, he was faintly flushed. By dinner, he banked the too warm fire, and the flush had spread from his face down his chest. Sweat beaded at his temples and dripped down his back but the slightest breeze made him shiver uncontrollably.

He stripped off his shirt first, then his shoes and socks, his bare feet crossing the stone on the outer ring of the tower, the rough wooden floor of the centre, the edges of the faded circular rug in front of the fireplace. The changes in texture and temperature gave his mind something to focus on other than the complete and utter discomfort of existing.

The moment Draco felt Potter coming up the stairs Draco went to his room, stripping down to his pants and collapsing onto the bed, falling into an utterly exhausted sleep.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Draco was flying, it was the quidditch pitch and a game although he couldn’t make out any details other than the cold rain and the broomstick handle he was clutching tightly with both hands. He needed to focus. He needed to fly. His team was relying on him, and he wasn’t going to be an embarrassment.

He just- but it was so cold, and he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t flown in two years, he hadn’t practised for ages. How could he win without practising? He wasn’t ready- He gripped the broom tighter with the sudden surge of fear, the ground so very far away and- and he fell. One moment on his broom, the next he was plummeting towards the ground-

Draco jerked awake and sucked in a startled breath. A shudder racked through him eventually settling into a persistent shiver. He had fallen asleep on top of his blankets and was chilled to the bone.

A high pitched whistle made him look towards the dark end of the room and pull his arms tight around himself as he followed the sound.

Draco carefully stepped onto the floor, sweeping his foot around until he found his discarded trousers and pulled his wand out of the pocket, casting lumos, illuminating the room in pale blueish light.

The room was empty. Draco didn’t feel anyone other than Potter downstairs. In the silence, his ears started picking up the sound of the wind outside, gusting against the tower. With every gust came that whistle and cold. Draco followed it to the double doors leading out onto the balcony. The latch holding the two doors together had slipped off just enough for the wind to push inside.

Draco pressed his hand against the doors, holding them closed and then unhooked the latch. He let the wind open the doors fully and shuddered, taking a step out to the waist-high banister. He braced his hands on the bitingly cold stone, leaning over and looking down at the castle turned into grey silhouettes by the faint light from the windows below. The dream was already fading from his mind as he stared down at the ground, trying to call up the terrifying sensation of falling. But there was nothing there, not even a suggestion of vertigo.

He shivered hard and stepped back inside, shutting the doors tightly behind him and went back to bed.

* * *

  
  


Harry groaned as his alarm spell went off, reaching up and waving around blindly for his bedside table, and finding nothing. He dropped his hand onto the wood floor, the hard edge of the cot digging into his arm. Harry shoved his face into his pillow with a beleaguered sigh, he wasn’t in Gryffindor tower. He kept forgetting.

The alarm spell continued to wail. Harry finally leaned over, grabbing his wand and glasses off the floor. He dispelled the charm and put his glasses on with a yawn. He sat on the edge for a while, gathering the will to stand up.

The faint clatter of Malfoy’s breakfast tray appearing on the table forced Harry to his feet. He didn’t want to miss his own breakfast, he had enough trouble paying attention in class without an empty stomach to distract him even more.

He grabbed his uniform, neatly folded and cleaned by the house elves overnight, and changed quickly, frowning at how cold it was. There was still a low fire in the grate, but the tower was cold as ice. Harry threw a few more logs on the fire before going upstairs to use the loo, wincing at every creak of the wooden floor that he knew Malfoy would chew him out for. But Malfoy was quiet, curled up in his blankets and down comforter.

Harry figured Malfoy would probably try to startle Harry as he left.

He didn’t.

Harry counted himself lucky and hurried down to the dining hall.

* * *

  
  


“Today we’re going to be expanding our work on shielding spells,” Professor Quintquick said, her soft voice barely carrying through the room. “All of our basic protego’s are exemplary, so today we will be working on our _protego maxima_ -” she cast the spell as she spoke creating a bubble-like barrier around herself- “If we can master the strongest shielding spell then we can use the rest of our time combining our shielding spell with a fianto duri, and a repello inimicum. Together those three spells make a barrier that is almost impenetrable by force or magic-”

The room was almost unbearably silent. Quintquick was so quiet a sigh could drown her out, so even those who didn’t care if they got top marks in their NEWTs were careful to keep quiet to avoid the wrath of those that were.

Harry stopped listening. Defence was the only class he knew he would get an Outstanding on the NEWTs without much effort. The written part of the exam was the only thing he really needed to study. _And_ he’d end up going over it all with Malfoy whether he liked it or not.

At least he was better at teaching Defence. Transfiguration was so fiddly.

Malfoy had been so quiet when Harry went upstairs. He hadn’t even seen Malfoy the night before. Harry frowned to himself, wondering if he should have checked on him.

There was a thundering _CRACK!_ a flash of light and Harry was under the desk, back pressed to the solid wood, his wand drawn. His hands shaking from the rush of adrenaline.

Harry felt someone pressed tight to his shoulder and glanced over at Ron who looked pale, his wand gripped tightly in his hand.

“…What is this? What is going on?” Quintquick’s voice said, as loud as she ever raised it.

Harry could hear Hermione sigh, “Well, the sound probably triggered their PTSD-”

“Our what-”

“PTSD, it’s-”

“What is a p-tee-s-dee?”

There was a pause, filled with Hermione’s almost palpable frustration. “fine…” she said through clenched teeth, “Shell shock?”

“Oh,” Quintquick said, “Spell shock, of course. From the war.”

“Spell shock,” Hermione repeated flatly.

“Yes?”

“Spell. Shock.”

“We read about it after the first war,” Quintquick said.

“Great,” Hermione said and slipped under the desk next to Ron with a muttered, “spell shock.”

“Will we be continuing our lesson?” Quintquick asked.

Ron shifted, carefully putting an arm over both Harry and Hermione’s shoulders pulling them close. “Go on without us,” he called out to her.

“This is most-”

But Harry didn’t hear the rest as Hermione cast a privacy spell around the three of them before leaning into Ron.

“That went well,” Ron said.

Hermione sighed, “Neither of you were paying attention, were you?”

“What for?” Harry said, “We know the spell.”

“So you wouldn’t be startled by the spells exploding on the protego in the professor’s demonstration,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be hugging my best friends right now,” Ron said, giving them a squeeze.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You’re going to have nightmares.”

Ron shrugged, “Do most nights anyway, so-”

Harry hadn’t. He hadn’t had a nightmare since he started staying with Malfoy.

It was always so peaceful in the tower, even when Malfoy was being a shit. Malfoy was a quiet sleeper too… but he said he woke up as soon as Harry left, and he always at least glared at Harry when he used the loo in the morning. Malfoy said he ‘walked too loud’, whatever that meant.

Harry had found Malfoy’s clothes on the floor of the tower when he came up last night, well _found_ , he tripped on them and nearly fell over the couch. That was strange. Malfoy was kind of a slob, which seemed weird to Harry, but he kept the main floor clean, it was only his bedroom that was always a mess-

“Mate? Harry?” Ron’s called, “Thinking about Malfoy again?”

“What?” Harry said, feeling his face flush, “What? Malfoy- I- No.”

“I mean, you were,” Ron said.

Hermione nodded, “You have this look when you’re thinking about him. We saw it enough in sixth year.”

“I was right about that, about Malfoy being up to something,” Harry said.

“Well, yes…” Hermione said, her tone conveying that Harry wasn’t going to like what she said next, “But it made things worse, didn’t it? You might have been able to help Malfoy, but you got rather fixated on catching him, and then you ended up- well I looked up the entomology of that spell you used on him, and you never said it was as bad as it must have been, It’s a very dangerous spell.”

Harry stared at his feet, trying very hard not to remember the bathroom, and all the- no. He wasn’t going to think about it.

“I thought that’s why you were helping Malfoy, you were trying to make up for that,” Hermione said.

Ron frowned, “I was pretty sure it was because Harry fancied him.”

“Oh,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

Harry froze, the breath caught in his chest.

“That makes sense as well,” Hermione said.

Harry stared at them in dismay. “ _What_?” he said shakily, “That doesn’t make sense. None of that makes sense.”

“The candy? The babysitting him while he’s ill?” Ron said.

“Thinking about him all the time,” Hermione said, “You used to stare at him, even more than you watched Cho.”

“I didn’t stare at him. At least not- I mean,” Harry said defensively, “he’s always been attractive, so that’s just- anyone might look. …well, okay, he wasn’t all that attractive until fifth year, after that growth spurt he had in fourth year that made him kind of stretched out. But him being attractive is just a fact.”

Ron and Hermione looked at one another.

Ron cleared his throat, “Yeah… I mean I’m not really keen on blokes, but he’s got a bit of a pinched face, doesn’t he?”

Hermione nodded, “Purebloods and rich muggles all tend to have the same sort of… unique bone structure-”

“Inbreeding,” Ron said.

“-right, and I wouldn’t say there aren’t people who find that sort of look attractive. He is very striking,” Hermione said, “But it’s not really a universal sort of appeal.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest and shut it again, acutely aware that it would not help. “I don’t fancy him,” he said stiffly.

Ron and Hermione were quiet, and Harry hoped that would be the end of it, though he didn’t work up the nerve to look at them and see what sort of expressions they were sharing.

“What colour are his eyes?” Ron said.

“What?” Harry asked.

“What colour are Malfoy’s eyes?” Ron asked again.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Come on. We don’t bite,” Ron said.

“…Grey.”

“Aren’t they blue?” Hermione said.

“Could be,” Ron said.

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione. “They’re grey.”

“I could have sworn they were blue,” Hermione insisted.

“No,” Harry said, “They’re light grey, like in the wrong sort of light it almost looks like he has no irises, and it’s kind of creepy.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her eyebrows rising, “Then what colour are Parvati’s eyes?”

“What?” Harry’s brow furrowed in thought. “Brown?” he hazarded.

“What about Neville’s?” Ron asked.

“…Brown?”

Hermione blinked at him, “What about Seamus?”

Harry shook his head with a sigh, “I don’t know. Brown?”

Ron snorted, “That’s rather sad, mate.”

“Brown is a common eye colour!” Harry said.

“In muggles,” Hermione said, trying not to giggle, “Unique eye colours are far more common in the magic community. And Parvati and Padma have purple eyes. They’re a bit dark, but Parvati used to brag about them all the time.”

“Nev’s eyes are closer to yellow than brown, like Lupin’s were,” Ron said.

Hermione turned a surprised look on him.

“What? We partner up in Herbology all the time,” Ron said, “I happened to notice.”

Harry frowned at them. “And Seamus’ eyes?”

“Brown,” Ron and Hermione said together and then burst out laughing.

Harry combed a hand through his hair, pulling it over one shoulder with a sigh.

Ron gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Why would I like Malfoy of all people,” Harry muttered, “He’s such a tit. He goes out of his way to be difficult just to rile me up.”

“I don’t think you’d get on with someone who wasn’t at least a little difficult,” Hermione said with a faint shrug.

Ron nodded in agreement, “I figured that’s why you and Ginny got on as well as you did. You pushed each other in the right sort of way. Like Hermione does for me.”

“You and Hermione argue all the time,” Harry said.

“And that works for us,” Hermione said with a shrug.

Harry’s frown deepened, “You’re both being rather good about this. This is Malfoy we’re talking about. I’d be upset if it were one of you.”

Hermione huffed a faint laugh, “If it were one of us, there would have to be love potions involved.”

Ron shuddered, “Ugh.”

Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Still,” Harry said.

“Well…” Ron said, “We might not have a reason to trust Malfoy, but we trust you. If there’s something about Malfoy you like then he must be worth liking, at least a bit.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling overwhelmed and confused and strangely relieved.

Ron hugged them both tighter to his chest, “This is nice. We ought to skip class more often.”

“No, we should not,” Hermione said without missing a beat.

They started quarrelling, and Harry rolled his eyes, though they were to busy to notice.

Malfoy had a fever the day before and a milder fever a few days before that. Harry’s brow furrowed in thought, trying to remember the last time Malfoy had been really sick... It had been when he’d passed out at the end of class, and Harry had to carry him to the hospital wing. What if that was happening again?

“Class is over,” Ron said into his ear, his breath tickling and making Harry jump back. He hit his head on the underside of the desk as Ron laughed. 

Harry aimed a kick at him and managed to hit Ron’s backside, getting a satisfying, “ _Ow,_ you bloody nuisance!”

“If I’m a nuisance so are you,” Harry said, pulling himself out from under the desk.

“I agree whole-heartedly. You’re both nuisances,” Hermione said, collecting the notes that her quill had been enchanted to keep taking even after they decided to ditch the rest of lessons.

“Aw, Hermione, I thought you liked me,” Ron teased.

“I can do both,” Hermione said, “Being fond of you and you being a nuisance are not mutually exclusive.”

Ron gave an even louder even more melodramatic groan which made Hermione smile and then try to hide it behind an unconvincingly serious expression.

“Erm, I’m going to go-” Harry grimaced, “- check on Malfoy.”

“He’s not doing so well?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, “Maybe? I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me anything. I think he’s allergic to asking for help.”

Ron grinned, “That’s something you have in common then.”

“I don’t-”

“You can't tell me if we didn't come with you whenever something went wrong over the years, you wouldn't have just tried to do _everything_ on your own.”

“ _Anyway_ , I might be late for class,” Harry said as he collected his bag.

“It’s Binns, it wouldn’t matter if you never showed up,” Ron said.

Hermione elbowed Ron in the side, “I’ll take notes for you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said to both of them and for a lot more than just notes.

* * *

  
  


Harry didn’t run up the tower steps, he just walked as fast he could until he reached the trap door, pushing it open and- the breakfast tray was untouched. Harry tugged on his hair nervously as he hurried up to the second floor.

Malfoy was laying on his back, his hair clinging to his forehead and darkened to a straw yellow by sweat.

“Malfoy?” Harry said hesitantly.

Malfoy opened his eyes, looking at him blearily, almost unfocused before closing them again, “……-way.”

“What?” Harry asked, walking over to the side of the bed.

“Go away,” Malfoy said faintly.

“This is one of the bad fevers, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

“How _did_ you guess?” Malfoy said sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Look, what can I do?”

“Nothing,” Malfoy said, “…go to class so you’ll actually be useful.”

“Hermione’s taking notes for me-”

“Go. Away.” Malfoy huffed, “I don’t want to go to _sleep_. I hate them.”

“Hate…what?” Harry asked. He cleaned off Malfoy’s chair, trying to make a neat pile on the floor.

“Dreams. Nightmares,” Malfoy said.

There were clothes strewn everywhere and two other piles of schoolwork and borrowed library books, one had fallen over, cascading across the floor. “Both of them?”

“No,” Malfoy dragged his arm across his forehead, “I don’t know. I can’t remember. They’re about flying, and they feel wretched. So go away.”

“Not until you tell me what to do,” Harry said.

“I did.”

“More than leaving,” Harry said.

Malfoy huffed, shifting restlessly against the mattress.

“…I would have thought dreams of flying would be nice. You’re pretty good,” Harry said.

“Was,” Malfoy said with a frown. He opened his eyes just enough peak out from under his lashes, “I haven’t flown since fifth year.”

“So? It’s not like you’ve forgotten how to do it,” Harry said.

Malfoy shook his head, “You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

Malfoy shook his head again.

“Come on,” Harry said.

Malfoy pushed his head back into his pillow, looking frustrated, “I haven’t flown in two years. I haven’t practised.”

Harry’s brow furrowed.

Malfoy scowled at him “I don’t think I hated you more than the day you caught Longbottom’s stupid toy.”

“Really? That’s-”

“No, wait,” Malfoy interrupted him, “It was when I found out you’d never flown before.”

Harry turned away from Malfoy, hiding his grin with a rather unconvincing cough.

“No, that’s not it- It was when you got on the team in first year. I was _so angry_ I threw up,” Malfoy said.

“Really?” Harry said.

Malfoy grimaced, shifting around again like there was an itch he couldn’t reach between his shoulder blades.

“What can I do?” Harry asked again.

Malfoy muttered something under his breath.

“What?”

“You’re intolerable,” Malfoy said, just loud enough to be heard.

“If that’s what you want to call 'helping you out when you’re ill' go right ahead,” Harry said.

Malfoy didn’t respond.

“Come on, chickadee,” Harry said and then felt himself start to flush. ‘Chickadee’ was a lot easier to say when he was just teasing. Now it seemed to mean a bit more than that.

“ _Intolerable_ ,” Malfoy said, and then sighed, “My nutrient and strengthening potions, in the bathroom.”

Harry jumped to his feet, grabbing the two large bottles from the potions cabinet by the sink and bringing them back to Malfoy, conjuring a table beside his bed so they would be within easy reach. “Anything else?”

“Water,” Malfoy said, struggling to sit up.

Harry reached out, catching Malfoy’s shoulder and pulling him up. Malfoy’s bare shoulder. The sheets fell down to his waist as he straightened up, showing the pale expanse of his shoulders and back, marked by a few small moles, like tiny drops of ink on parchment.

“Water, Potter,” Malfoy repeated stiffly.

Harry jumped and quickly conjured a glass and filled it with an _aguamenti_.

Malfoy took the glass with a frown, sipping the water, his frown deepening.

“Is- should I get some water from the tap?” Harry asked.

“No,” Malfoy said, “It’s fine.” He set the water down to open the nearest potion bottle, struggling with the cork.

Harry opened the other one for him.

Malfoy tipped the bottle back, drinking straight from the mouth, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He put the bottle back with a grimace and picked up the other, drinking quickly and then washing it all down with the water. Malfoy shuddered as he put the glass back, and it fell on its side, rolling off the table and clattering onto the floor.

“Stop staring,” Malfoy said bitterly.

Harry blinked, his face feeling even more flushed.

“Or are you enjoying looking at your handy work?” Malfoy said, leaning back to show the crisscrossing lines of pale scars all across his chest that Harry hadn’t even noticed before.

Harry’s stomach clenched, and he swallowed hard, the taste of bile at the back of his throat.

“Or maybe this?” Malfoy said even more bitterly, turning his left arm over to show a painfully raised pink scar, all that remained of the dark mark after Voldemort had died.

Harry felt the chair press against his back when he couldn’t pull any further away. He clenched his jaw, fighting not to be sick, the bite of acid sharp in his mouth.

Malfoy studied him, his expression carefully blank before he slipped his arm back under the sheet, “Calm down, Potter, you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Why-?” Harry said faintly.

Malfoy scowled faintly at him, “Why? _Why_? It wasn’t a choice. You don’t choose the mark, it was _given_ to you. You couldn’t say _no_ to the dark lord.”

Harry shook his head and then cleared his throat with little success, his voice coming out hoarse, “The scars…Snape said he’d use dittany-”

“He did,” Malfoy said wearily, “He managed to get rid of the scars on my face…” he reached up absent-mindedly running a hand down his neck where Harry could just make out a faint scar that started under his jaw and went down to his collarbone. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it if Malfoy hadn’t touched it.

Harry took a deep breath and then another.

Malfoy’s brow twisted with uncertainty for just a moment before he covered it up with a half-hearted scowl. He grabbed the sheet pulling it back up over himself as he dropped back into the bed.

“Don’t think about it,” Draco said reluctantly, “It’s done.”

Harry took a shaky breath, pulling off his glasses and carefully wiping them clean on the edge of his robe. When he put them back on, he could see that Malfoy had closed his eyes again, he looked more pink than before, sweat beading on his brow.

Harry was supposed to be helping.

“…There’s your breakfast downstairs, I could bring it up,” Harry said.

Harry thought for a moment that Malfoy had fallen asleep, or was pretending to have fallen asleep, when he said, “Tea.”

Harry stood, holding onto the back of the chair and then the wall as he went downstairs, stopping in front of the table and staring numbly at the array of foods.

He had to take another deep breath and then leaned on the table. _Cold water soaking his clothing-_ He had tried so hard not to think about what had happened that day. _Blood-_ He had pushed it out of his mind, had- Harry grimaced in dismay- he had been so fixated on hiding the potions book and tricking Snape, and then Ginny had said it was alright and he had clung onto that and… _Dark magic-_

He squeezed his eyes shut, and what had Malfoy done that deserved the spell Harry had cast? He’d let death eaters into Hogwarts at the end of the year,but at the time he hadn’t done anything that bad. And he’d had no choice, his and his families lives were at risk- _you don’t say no to the dark lord-_ he had no one to help him. Snape’s only ‘help’ was killing Dumbledore when Malfoy couldn’t, and Dumbledore… He had _known_ , and only offered Malfoy protection when it was too late, when he knew he couldn’t actually do anything-

Harry swallowed hard, squeezing his hands into fists and trying to control his breathing. Hermione had been right, he did need to make up for what he had done to Malfoy. Ron might’ve been a bit right as well, though finding someone attractive wasn’t the same as liking them as a person, Harry was certain of that.

He counted to ten in his head, taking a few deep breaths and then did his best to get on with it. He transfigured a plate into a serving tray and carried up all the tea things, jingling and rattling with every slightly shaky step.

“You like your tea sweet?” Harry asked, setting the tray on the edge of the table and filling the mug.

Malfoy opened his eyes just enough to see, “I thought you left.”

“Err, no…” Harry said. He cleared his throat, “Your tea?”

“One sugar,” Malfoy said.

“Only one?” Harry asked, dropping in a single sugar cube and stirring it in, trying not to bang the spoon against the sides too much.

Malfoy nodded. He squirmed back onto his pillow, so he was slightly propped up, keeping the sheet tucked tightly under his armpits.

“Do you want any more pillows?” Harry asked.

“ ‘M not going to be up that long,” Malfoy said irritably, holding his hands out for the mug.

Harry passed it over, “It’s hot.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, blowing on the tea before taking a sip.

“…I could conjure some more pillows if you wanted them or blankets, whatever you want,” Harry said.

“I don’t like conjured pillows,” Malfoy said, sounding like his younger self, spoiled and whiny.

Harry turned on his heel, acioing his own pillow from the cot downstairs, “You could have this one.”

Malfoy stared at him, his cup frozen a breath away from his mouth, “Your pillow?”

“Yeah? It’s not conjured,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s face went slightly redder, perhaps from his fever or the tea which he set aside, sliding back into bed, “…fine.” He held out a hand and took Harry’s pillow, placing it next to his own.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged faintly, “More water. A stasis charm to keep the tea warm.”

Harry did both and waited hopefully for more direction. “…is there-”

“You can go away now. It’ll be over soon enough,” Malfoy said, waving him off and closing his eyes.

Harry hesitated and then took a step back, “…Alright, I’m gonna go for a bit. I’ll be back later.”

Malfoy made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

Harry nodded to himself and hurried down the stairs.

* * *

  
  


Draco sighed.

There was a sinking feeling in his chest that he dimly recognised as guilt. He had gone too far with the scars. He knew, unfortunately well, that the guilty feeling would only grow as time went on.

He almost missed back before fifth year when being rude and cruel had been easy, and he hadn’t felt bad about anything he had done. Now, even those memories had weight to them.

Draco shifted against the sheets. The restless itch that he couldn’t scratch was spreading, down his back and arms, he clenched his hands in anticipation of the feeling tingling through his fingers. It felt like it was under his skin like it was reaching to his very marrow, twitching, growing, changing him-

He shuddered and reached up, pulling Potter’s pillow down, hugging it tight to his chest and burying his face in the pillowcase, trying to memorise the scent caught in the fabric. After a moment, he reached under his own pillow, fishing around until he found the blue hairband and slipping it back around his wrist.

Draco felt himself flush again, embarrassed at even the thought he might be seen being so foolish. 

But it was too nice not to.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

“What do you mean, there’s nothing?” Harry said in disbelief.

Pomfrey spared him a look as she moved to the next bed, a wordless charm pulling the dirty sheets off and another charm putting on clean ones from the pile floating by her shoulder, “It’s not an illness, it’s a natural process. I can’t _heal_ him of it.”

“Yeah, but there has to be something that makes it easier,” Harry said.

“I have sent Mr Malfoy a rather diverse selection of potions and his _very extensive_ letters in return have thoroughly explained that none of them has had anything more than a mild and fairly temporary effect,” Pomfrey said.

Harry winced, easily imagining Malfoy’s pratish letters. He had the uncanny knack of getting on Pomfrey’s wrong side. “He’s- yeah. So nothing, then.”

Pomfrey stared at the bed with a much put-upon expression before sighing and turned to Harry, “I can give you a couple pepper-ups, they seemed to reduce the fever slightly and teach you a charm to freshen his sheets so they don’t get too unpleasant from sweat.”

Harry walked over as Pomfrey held her wand out and demonstrated the spell twice before having Harry practice it on a few of the unchanged beds himself. She patted Harry’s shoulder, “Just keep him as comfortable as you can manage, that’s the best advice I can offer.”

* * *

  
  


“Just keep him-?! That’s _it_?!” Hermione groaned in frustration, “Can anyone here manage anything without magic?!”

“Err-” Harry held up a hand.

“It’s like if you can’t fix it instantly, then why bother even trying?!” Hermione said mockingly.

“Hermione,” Harry said, glancing around the hall nervously as students turned to look at them.

“Maybe if they ignore it hard enough, it will just go away!” Hermione said even louder.

“Hermione, c’mon, I agree it’s shit, but right now I need some advice, not a lecture on the history of magical medical care,” Harry said.

Hermione let out a huge sigh, deflating from her righteous fury.

“Here, I’ll walk with you to the great hall,” Harry said, turning Hermione by the shoulder to get her started in the right direction.

Hermione gave him a glare but started down the hall anyway, “So Malfoy’s illness doesn’t respond to potions at all?”

“A little, not much, it’s tricky,” Harry said.

Hermione said, terribly unsubtly, “I could be more helpful if you told me what was wrong-”

Harry shook his head, “Not gonna happen.”

“Fine,” Hermione said.

“Besides, I need advice about what _muggles_ do when they’re sick, not magic folk,” Harry said.

“Well, what did your-” Hermione cut herself off, “Nevermind, forget I asked.”

“Yeah. I kinda wanted to know what people who actually care do,” Harry said lightly.

Hermione reached over, giving Harry’s hand a sympathetic squeeze, “Well, I’ll tell you everything my parents did…”

* * *

  
  


Harry was starting to think he should get his broom out of the shed and fly up the tower stairs like McGonagall had. Or enchant them to move like the stairs up to the Headmaster’s office. But then he’d have to figure out the enchantments and the castle probably wouldn’t allow that much change, and that was a lot of work. A broom was easier. Certainly easier than walking.

He dragged himself up the last few steps into the tower and went straight to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh of relief.

The house elves had replaced Malfoy’s breakfast with two bowls of soup as Harry had asked, one chicken and one that was just a light broth. There was also toast and apple sauce. They hadn’t been able to get the instant jelly, unsurprisingly, though Hermione had talked very fondly about having it when she was sick. The elves had also included a sandwich for Harry which he was desperately grateful for since he had forgotten to eat.

Harry ate the sandwich with one hand as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his robe, retrieving the two vials of pepper-up from the pocket and putting them on the tray.

There was no noise coming from upstairs, so Harry tiptoed up the stairs in his socks, and found Malfoy asleep. He was hugging a pillow, Harry’s pillow. And drooling on it. Just a little.

Harry smiled to himself, only half-aware he was doing it.

The fever must have relented enough for Malfoy to sleep so Harry went back downstairs and laid on the couch, his legs hanging over the armrest. The spells over the food would preserve them for ages and Harry could use some rest himself.

* * *

  
  


Harry blinked, his ears straining after whatever had woken him up. A tense few seconds later, he heard the bathroom door opening above his head and the quiet, shuffling steps of Malfoy moving around.

Harry sat up and rubbed his neck, yawning and then getting to his feet. Soup was a tricky thing to carry, and He found himself staring at the edge of the soup bowls as he took each careful step. He managed to keep from spilling a single drop.

Harry set the tray on the bedside table, and when he looked up Malfoy was watching him, one eyebrow raised. Malfoy quickly looked back down, going back to trying to button the buttons of what Harry could only assume was a sleep shirt. It looked a lot like his regular dress shirts, only slightly looser and longer, made of thin blue cotton. It would suit an old man better than Malfoy. He was already wearing the matching drawstring sleep pants.

“What?” Harry asked.

“What, what?” Malfoy said sourly, not looking up. He had managed two buttons.

“What was that look?” Harry said. He took a step over, “let me help.”

“No,” Malfoy said, “You could have levitated the tray. You’re lucky you didn’t spill it like a moron.

Harry ignored the ‘no’ since Malfoy was getting nowhere except frustrated. He grabbed the front of Malfoy’s shirt, and Malfoy’s hands jerked back. Harry took a steadying breath as he did up the buttons, not looking down Malfoy’s shirt as he did, and wondering at his own mix of feelings at if he had looked, would he see the scars? -or his nipples, and would those be as pink as Malfoy’s lips…

“Thank you,” Malfoy said stiffly, his hands still frozen in the air at his side, only relaxing when Harry moved away.

“You’d think you might wear something more comfortable when you’re sick,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.

Malfoy frowned down at himself and then up at Harry, “They are. My normal sleepwear is silk. Silk and sweat don’t mix.”

“Silk,” Harry said, not quite hiding his amusement and getting more of Malfoy’s frown pointed at him.

Malfoy waved for Harry to get out of the way, shifting down the bed so he could collapse onto the pillows against the headboard, “And whatever you wear is so much _better_.”

“I don’t know about _better_ ,” Harry said, mimicking his acerbic tone, “but a lot more comfortable, yeah.”

“Which is?” Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, “An old teeshirt and boxers.”

Malfoy sniffed at him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I never said fancy, just comfortable,” Harry said, “I brought soup, regular chicken and a light broth sort of thing, and there’s toast and-”

“Apple sauce?” Malfoy said, studying the tray, “I’m not dying.”

“What?”

“It’s what you feed old people when they’re dying,” Malfoy said, putting a finger on the rim of the apple sauce bowl and pushing it slightly.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Well, it’s also what you eat when you’re sick and having trouble with food. They’re all easy to digest and keep down.”

Malfoy studied him, “That didn’t sound like you.”

“Err, well, I, uh, haven’t told anyone what you’re going through, so you don’t have to worry about that. I asked really vague questions about err- muggle sort of sickness questions since they can’t just solve everything with a potion, and muggles have a lot more experience with having to actually go through being sick and all-” Harry started to falter as he realised he was rambling and finished, “…I asked Hermione.” He tensed, waiting for the explosion of anger or cruelty.

Which didn’t come.

Malfoy was looking at his hands, his brow furrowed, “Did… Granger know it was for me?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, both Ron and Hermione know I’m helping you, but like I said, I didn’t say why, just that you’re ill.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Draco said, glancing up and then back at his hands.

“No. I mean, it’s personal, isn’t it?” Harry said, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

“You could have a laugh,” Malfoy said quietly.

Harry frowned, “This isn’t funny and I wouldn’t-”

“Because you’re a good person,” Malfoy said, bitterness edging his words.

Harry blinked, his thoughts thrown into confusion, “Not really.”

Malfoy finally looked at him.

“I _try,_ but I’ve done bad things. I have a temper and sometimes I- And I’m reckless which has got people hurt…” Harry frowned to himself, “I- Why am I telling you all this?”

“I’m a good listener,” Malfoy said.

And Harry almost laughed except that Malfoy looked so nervous and sincere he bit his tongue.

Malfoy went back to looking at his hands, playing anxiously with his fingers. He took a deep breath, and then another, “If you could tell Granger… thank you. It was very kind of her,” Malfoy said, the words sounding awkward, like they didn’t fit his mouth quite right.

As he watched Malfoy grew pinker, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. The fever was probably coming back.

“Alright. I will.” Harry cleared his throat. “Hermione said a cool cloth on the forehead was good, so I’m gonna get a towel.”

* * *

  
  


Draco remained frozen stock still until Potter stepped into the bathroom, then pulled the blankets over his head and pressed his face into the pillows and died a little bit inside.

Potter came back, and Draco hurriedly sat up against the headboard, trying to smooth down his hair. He had managed to get it looking half decent earlier in front of the sink, and now he’d gone and ruined it-

Potter dropped a soggy towel on his head, water dripping down his nose and the back of his neck- Draco snatched it off and threw it back at him. It hit Potter’s chest and stuck there, water soaking into his shirt.

“Well, that’s-” Potter peeled the towel off with a frown, “I suppose I should have rung it out more.”

Draco used his sleeve to wipe the water off his face, shivering as water crept down his back, “What a novel idea,” he said acidly, glaring at Potter.

Potter shrugged, trying to hide a grin as he returned to the bathroom.

Draco huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, regretting that he wasted any time on being embarrassed.

Potter came back holding out the towel, and Draco grabbed it from him before he could end up wet again. He folded it carefully and placed it on the side table for later. “Weren’t you raised by muggles? I’d think you’d be less shit at this.”

Potter was quiet, for far too long.

Draco looked at him curiously, and Potter put on a smile that looked remarkably like the one he always had on in photos for the Prophet, stilted and obviously forced.

“You don’t exactly pay much attention to that sort of thing when you’re sick yourself,” Potter said.

It sounded good, but Potter’s expression told Draco it was at least partly a lie.

“Are you hungry? All you’ve had today is potions,” Potter said.

“And tea,” Draco said.

Potter looked at Draco’s mug, which was entirely untouched, and back at Draco.

“I refilled it,” Draco lied.

Potter rolled his eyes, “Are you hungry or not?”

“Fine,” Draco said, “but you have to conjure a bed tray.”

Potter gave him a flat look.

“It has legs to raise the food up. I’m not spilling soup on myself because you can’t be bothered to make something so simple,” Draco said indignantly, “I’ve seen you conjure chairs and tables, it’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. We practically spent a year on basic furniture, of course I can do tables and chairs, third years can do tables and chairs, you can do-”

“It’s a small table with small legs,” Draco interrupted.

“It’s not,” Potter said.

“It is,” Draco said.

“Where is your wand, if it’s so easy?” Potter said.

Draco smirked, “I hid it.”

Potter blinked.

“You can’t steal my wand if you don’t know where it is,” Draco said.

“Why would I steal your bloody wand?” Potter said.

Draco turned his hands up in frustration, “You have stolen it every time I’ve had a fever and once for an entire week I didn’t.”

“I didn’t _steal_ it,” Potter said, “The times you were sick you dropped the stupid thing and I returned it, and other time I was just holding onto to in until you got your strength back.”

“ _Holding onto it_ implies you asked permission, which you did _not_ , because you _stole_ it-”

A tray table appeared on the bed over Draco’s legs, “ _There_!” Potter said impatiently, putting his wand away and moving food onto the table, “Now _eat_.”

The tray table had very thick legs, like a small coffee table that had been lopped off at the knees.

“I told you you could make a tray table,” Draco said.

“That’s the ugliest- That is not a tray table,” Potter said.

“It’s a tray, it’s a table. It’s a tray table,” Draco said, picking up a spoon.

“It’s ugly,” Potter muttered.

Draco tasted the chicken soup. “Do better next time then. It’s all about practise.”

“Practise. What is with you and practise,” Potter said.

Draco picked up a piece of toast, bit into it, frowned, and dipped it in the plain broth, taking another bite with a satisfied nod. “…It’s how you get good at something.”

Potter groaned, his head thumping back against the chair, “You can call it whatever you like but, practising is just another word for studying. I hate studying.”

Draco tried to eat a few more spoonfuls of soup, but he really didn’t have the appetite for it.

“Applesauce?” Potter suggested.

“Merlin, no,” Draco said vehemently.

Potter grinned in amusement, “What have you got against applesauce?”

“It’s- It’s old people food,” Draco said, rather losing all interest in the food.

“Wait…” Potter said, eyes narrowing in thought, “How do you know what old people eat? Is it related to the applesauce?”

Draco thought about it for a few seconds before replying, “Alright. I can’t see how you would use this against me so I’ll tell you.”

“Use it against-”

Draco dropped his spoon back onto the table and leaned back, “My Grandfather died of dragon pox before I was born but Grandmother… I only remember her sick. My parents almost never talked about her, but I learned about her somewhere…” he trailed off trying to recall, “Anyway. I went looking for her. I knew I had the right room when Dilly, the house elf watching me, told me I shouldn’t go in-”

“And you ignored them,” Potter said.

“I only listened to the house elves when they threatened to tell my parents. And I knew they would only tell if it was very bad because they would be punished as well,” Draco said and frowned, “In retrospect that’s a terrible system if you actually want to keep a child out of trouble.”

“Yeah, I’d guess the elves didn’t enjoy it much either,” Potter said sarcastically.

“ _Probably not_ ,” Draco said in a clipped tone. “Shall I continue?”

“Go on then,” Potter said, waving him on.

“She was very frail,” Draco said softly, “and she never spoke. She couldn’t use one of her arms and had trouble eating. She ate a lot of applesauce and broth, puddings, soft things. There was an elf that took care of her, but I wonder if anyone else ever came to see her…”

Draco hesitated, lost in thought, “I would come see her every day, whenever I could and talk and talk,” he smiled faintly, “and talk. Because Grandmama was never too busy or pretending to listen when she really wasn’t or telling me to go and play on my own. I remember… the second day I came to see her, and she patted the bed and beckoned to me. So I knew that she wanted me there.

“She could only kind of smile with one side of her mouth, it seemed like it was hard for her, but she smiled for me. I would hold her hand sometimes because she liked it, but it was strange, her hand was so bony, and her skin was dry,” Draco squeezed his eyes shut, “… And then one day she was gone. There was a funeral, but I wasn’t allowed to come because I was too upset and would have made a scene. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her grave.”

Draco quickly wiped his eyes and sniffed, shaking his head to try and clear it of all heavy feelings. It had been a long, long time since he had thought about his Grandmama. It had only been six months or so that he knew her, but he had so many memories-

“I’m sorry,” Potter said.

Draco sniffed again, “Why? You didn’t kill her.”

That startled a laugh out of Potter and made Draco smile.

* * *

  
  


Malfoy looked so utterly pleased to have made Harry laugh even as he quickly tried to hide the expression by picking his spoon and just as quickly putting it back down.

Harry couldn’t help noticing that Malfoy had hardly eaten anything, a few bites of soup, a single piece of toast dipped in broth and nothing else.

“You haven’t eaten much,” Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged, “Not hungry.”

“You said you were hungry,” Harry said.

“I said ‘fine’,” Malfoy said, slumping back into his pillow.

“So you weren’t hungry,” Harry said.

“I wasn’t _not_ hungry either,” Malfoy said, sulking a bit, “Besides its feed a cold, starve a fever.”

“Hermione says that bullshit. Or she would if she swore. She said it’s an old wives tale and when you’re sick its always better to eat something than nothing.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, “Granger doesn’t swear?”

“Not really,” Harry said, “You really should-”

“I bet she’s the sort to swear strategically,” Malfoy said, “She’ll save up a _fuck_ for when it has the most impact.”

“I- sometimes,” Harry said, trying not to get distracted, “look, you could at least have some broth or tea.”

“I took my potions,” Malfoy said.

“They aren’t going to keep you hydrated. You need lots of liquids when you have a fever because you’re sweating so much.”

Malfoy grimaced, “Don’t remind me.”

“Malfoy.”

Malfoy frowned.

“Chickadee.”

Malfoy’s skin pinkened.

Harry hesitated, “…Come on, little bird.”

He watched with fascination as Malfoy’s flushed an even deeper red and realised that this was not his fever at all. Something fluttered nervously in Harry’s stomach.

“I’ll have some water,” Malfoy conceded.

The glass of water Harry had left for him last time was empty, so he must have had that at least. Harry refilled it with an aguamenti and handed it to Malfoy. While he was drinking, on a hunch, Harry added two more sugar cubes to the still-warm tea. He traded it to Malfoy when he handed Harry the empty glass.

Malfoy took the tea with a much put-on sigh and took a sip, then another and contentedly drank down the whole cup. He gave Harry the empty mug and wiggled down onto the bed, making a shooing motion at the tray table.

“Really?” Harry said.

Malfoy repeated the motion with the smallest of cheeky grins.

Harry sighed, moving everything off the tray table and dispelling it so it wasn’t in Malfoy’s way.

“You know… for someone with a temper, you’ve been utterly impossible to anger,” Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been trying. And I’m very good at it,” Malfoy said.

“You have a lot of practise,” Harry said flatly, re-enforcing the conjuration on the side table so it wouldn’t disappear in the middle of the night.

“Precisely!” Malfoy said, “But the closest I’ve managed is the first day in the tower.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your ability, isn’t it?” Harry said, refilling the water glass and the mug with more tea and three sugars.

“My…ability,” Malfoy said, suddenly sounding small and uncertain, “I- The veela said I don’t have allure.”

“It’s not like that,” Harry said. He took a moment to think, rearranging things on the side table, “It’s more like a calming feeling. It’s hard to be upset or worried or angry.”

“When you’re near me-”

“It starts on the stairs just below the trapdoor usually,” Harry said, “Have you read the book that Margery-?”

“Margery?”

“The veela, her name was Margery,” Harry said.

Malfoy shook his head.

“Not at all? There’s some useful-”

“I don’t want to know,” Malfoy said abruptly.

Harry sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair, getting caught in the tangles near the bottom, “You can’t just ignore-”

“ _I don’t want to know_ ,” Malfoy said, practically pleading.

“You’re going to have to eventually,” Harry said, “before the book returns itself.”

Malfoy turned his head away.

“Well, _I’ve_ read a bit of it. Back when veela were more like birds, they were super aggressive. So it makes sense that the male would be able to calm everyone down and keep them from attacking one another, makes him more useful.”

“Useful,” Malfoy muttered bitterly.

“It’s nice too, not having to worry,” Harry said.

Malfoy turned on his side away from Harry.

Harry frowned, “It’s not a bad thing-”

“Can you leave?” Malfoy said, “I want to rest.”

“You can’t ignore it and hope it goes away. That’s not how it works. It’s a part of you, it’s who you are.” Harry stood up, shaking his head, “I’m gonna go down for dinner. I’ll be back after that.”

“Fine.”

Harry headed for the stairs but stopped before going down, “Hey, can I tell Hermione about your grandmother? She’s studying to be a healer after school, and she’s really interested in-”

“fine,” Malfoy interrupted, his voice just above a whisper.

“…Alright, see you later,” Harry said.

* * *

  
  


Draco pulled the blankets up to his ears and didn’t think about it.

He wasn’t going to think about it.

He wasn’t going to think about it.

He wasn’t.

He _wasn’t_.

* * *

  
  


“Oh, it sounds like she had a stroke,” Hermione said.

“A what now?” Ron asked, leaning closer to hear over the general noise in the great hall.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “A stroke. It’s when a blood clot in the brain cuts off blood flow and causes part of the brain to die if it’s not treated in time.”

“Never heard of it,” Ron said.

Hermione’s brow furrowed, “Have you heard of a heart attack?”

“Oh yeah,” Ron thumped his chest with his fist, “Chest pains and what-not.”

“So you know about a heart attack but not a stroke-? When stokes are nearly as dangerous-”

Ron shrugged, “Does it hurt?”

Hermione frowned, “Usually not to the one experiencing it. …And that’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s no pain so it isn’t a problem and it’s never fixed. _If_ they survive they, just end up like Malfoy’s Grandmother, treated like an invalid and left to die.”

“Well, what could they do?” Ron asked, “She was like-couldn’t move or talk, right?”

“Muggles have physical therapy where they help people who have been injured or lost the use of something, to relearn and rebuild their bodies. They even have speech therapy…” Hermione said. She sighed with a frown, “Isn’t it strange that purebloods probably have the worst healthcare because they don’t even know about the muggle medicine that could help them?”

“Or would refuse to use it,” Harry pointed out.

Hermione nodded, “I wonder if she had dragon pox…”

“What?” Harry said, not following Hermione’s train of thought in the slightest.

“Most of the people that make up your grandparents generation were wiped out by the dragon pox epidemic in the winter of nineteen seventy-nine,” Hermione said. She pulled her shoulders back as her tone shifted into lecture mode, “Both your grandparents were killed, and Malfoy’s grandfather. Very few people who contract it survive. It has a very high mortality rate, and I have to wonder how many that did survive died soon after from complications.

“Even if Malfoy’s Grandmother had Lucius fairly late in life, she would have still been pretty young to have a stroke, especially since magic folk can sometimes live two hundred y-”

“If it’s so dangerous, how is _anyone_ alive?” Harry asked, mildly horrified.

“It only gets the old people,” Ron said. “And it doesn’t happen often, only when some sick tosser from the mainland brings it over, and they usually catch it as soon as the portkey comes in. Really hard to miss, dragon pox is.”

“Well, _older_ people,” Hermione corrected. “I think it has to do with either a drop in hormone levels or increase in general cell degradation, although magic has to have something to do with it or muggles would catch it as well.” She pulled out one of her many notebooks, and flipped it open to a rather intimidating looking list, “There are so many things I need to look into. For instance, do you know, the magic community doesn’t have any vaccines of their own?”

“Really?” Harry asked, “Haven’t they been around for ages?”

“Two hundred years,” Hermione said. She took out a pen and added a few notes to one of the items on the list. “I mean, they must have tried making vaccines, it would be stupid not to, but I can’t exactly read up on failed vaccine experiments in the Hogwarts library. I’m hoping Mungo’s will have more detailed information.”

“Well, if they don’t, you’ll find it somewhere,” Ron said.

“Yes, I suppose-”

“Before I forget, Malfoy said thanks,” Harry said.

Both Ron and Hermione stopped talking.

“Me?” Hermione said, pointing to herself uncertainly.

Harry nodded, “For the advice I asked about earlier.”

“That’s… decent of him,” Hermione said, still looking utterly thrown off.

“How’s he doing then?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged.

“I mean, you can tell us now. Right?” Ron narrowed his eyes, “Otherwise-”

Harry shook his head, “Personal.”

“You mean to tell me, you asked him if you could tell _us_ ,” Ron said in dismay, pointing to him and Hermione, “about his _dead Grandma_ when he’s not even alright about talking about his being sick?”

“I- Yeah?” Harry said.

“Did he hate her or something?” Ron asked.

“No?” Harry shook his head, “I think he was really fond of her.”

Ron put his hand on his forehead, “Really? Mate. _Really_?”

“ _What_? He said it was okay,” Harry said defensively.

“Oof-” Ron groaned, “I know I have the emotional range of a tablespoon-”

“Teaspoon,” Hermione said.

Ron looked stricken, “Okay, I’ll admit to a teaspoon before, but I’ve been working at it, and I think I at least rate a tablespoon now.”

“Oh, all right, a tablespoon,” Hermione said, “and a generous one at that.”

“Brilliant,” Ron grinned. “So I’m not the best when it comes to emotional stuff and what have you, but asking Malfoy if you can tell Hermione about his dead Grandma is just a bit-”

“Bad taste,” Hermione offered.

“That, but also, it sends the wrong sort of message, doesn’t it?” Ron said, “I mean, do you want him to like you? I can understand if you don’t, it being Malfoy, but generally fancying someone works best both ways.”

“I thought he might already fancy Harry?” Hermione asked, “He’s always been weirdly obsessed with him.”

“Voldemort was weirdly obsessed with him, and you wouldn’t say he fancied Harry, would you?” Ron said.

Hermione let out a horrified laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth, “Oh my god, Ron.”

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said,” Harry said, “Ever, mate.”

“Thanks,” Ron said.

“Not a compliment,” Harry said.

“I’ll take it anyway,” Ron said.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“So do you want him to like you?” Ron asked.

“I- I suppose,” Harry said.

“Alright!” Ron said, “Then you need to be nicer to him. Not ask to tell strangers about his dead Grandma.”

“You’re not strangers-” Harry protested.

“No, we’re _worse_ , he knows us and _doesn’t like us,_ ” Ron said.

Harry grimaced.

“It’s not that hard, just be nice. That’s it. Nice,” Ron said.

“Well…” Hermione crinkled her nose, “Cho kind of did all the work for him. And he was already friends with Ginny when they got together. He doesn’t have a lot of experience starting relationships.”

“Fine, then just leave the dead Grandma’s out of it,” Ron said.

“Can you stop saying ‘dead Grandma’,” Hermione said, “It’s getting to be a bit much.”

“I’m trying to emphasise a point,” Ron said.

Hermione kissed his cheek, “And you’ve done a wonderful job of it.”

“Oh. Alright, if you say so…” Ron said, going soppy around the edges.

Harry sighed and asked, hoping to steer them to a new subject, “Hey, Hermione, how do you control the fine detail when you’re conjuring furniture?”

Hermione turned to him excitedly, “It’s all about having a strong mental image of what you want to create and perfect wrist control-”

She took out her wand to demonstrate as Ron groaned and melodramatically thumped his head on the table.

* * *

  
  


“Before I go,” Harry said, walking beside Hermione and Ron as they left the great hall, “I remembered that Hagrid raised werewolf cubs and they have a pack in the forbidden forest.”

Hermione turned to Ron, punching his arm, “I knew I remembered wolves somewhere-!”

“What are you on about?” Ron said with a laugh.

“You said there were no wolves left on the british isles!” Hermione said.

Ron held up his hands, “Wolves, yeah. These are werewolves, Hermione.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “They are indistinguishable from regular wolves.”

“Cept for their parents being werewolves,” Ron said.

“My point stands,” Hermione said, flipping her hair off her shoulder in annoyance.

“You were both right,” Harry tried, knowing it probably wouldn’t work, and forging ahead before they started arguing, “So I was going to go visit Hagrid and ask him about it as soon as Malfoy’s doing better. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after.”

“We’ll come along,” Ron said.

Hermione nodded, “As long as it doesn’t cut into our studies too much.”

“Hagrid knows more about the Forbidden forest better than anyone. It’d be great if we could get this whole wolf-dog thing sorted in one go,” Ron said. “Though if it meant less studying, I’d be all for it.”

“Ron!” Hermione said reproachfully.

“Just teasin, Mione!” Ron laughed.

Harry hesitated when their paths diverged, Ron and Hermione up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, and him deeper into the castle, “I’ll uh, see you tomorrow.”

Ron clapped Harry’s shoulder and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Hermione hugged him as soon as Ron let him go.

“Have a good one, mate,” Ron said.

Hermione gave him one last tight squeeze and stepped back, “You could ask Malfoy… if we could talk to him?”

Harry blinked.

“So we could mend fences,” Hermione said.

“Try, anyway,” Ron said, “I’m not going to get my hopes up.”

Hermione glared at him.

Ron shrugged, “I’m just being realistic.”

“I’m sure it will go fine,” Hermione said confidently.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Harry went straight to Malfoy’s room.

Malfoy was flushed an unpleasant looking red, sweat beading on his skin. Every breath he took was a little too laboured for comfort. His eyes flicked back and forth under his eyelids, caught in a turbulent dream.

Harry found the damp cloth, mostly dried out on the floor beside the bed, and wet it again, ringing it out thoroughly before returning to the chair. He put a mild cooling charm on it and carefully lay it on Malfoy’s forehead.

Malfoy twitched, his breathing hitching for a moment then he seemed to relax ever so slightly, his dreams easing.

And Harry wondered what he should do.

Malfoy had drunk a vial of pepper-up, and the water glass was empty once again. He had eaten. Malfoy had taken every potion that might help and had plenty of liquids. He was resting, as much as he could, and sleeping, however uneasy.

There was nothing he could do.

Except wait. And Harry wasn’t good at waiting.

He didn’t like- It made him feel… powerless.

He hated feeling powerless.

More than anything.

Harry sighed and considered trying to study before discarding the idea out of hand. He picked up books from the piles on the floor, most of them for assignments Harry was expected to turn in. Malfoy could avoid turning in any schoolwork until his fevers were over with, but he was doing them anyway. He had almost seemed furious when Harry had suggested the idea.

He recognized one of the books of fairy tales he had brought Malfoy, all about magical creatures and flipped it open. He read stories about nymphs and sirens, and about a selkie. Selkies were shapechangers, seals that can take off their skin and turn into a human, or something quite like it.

One night a beautiful selkie came to the shore, perhaps to enjoy the full moon or the stars, it didn’t say, because the story was written from a man’s point of view, a man who stole the selkie’s skin and locked it away so he could trap her. He married the selkie, had children by her, even as she sat by the window all day starring at the sea and weeping. Until one of her children found the hidden skin and showed it to their mother, who took it and ran back to the sea, never to be seen again.

Harry closed the book with a scowl, throwing it back onto the floor. He massaged his temples with his thumbs, hating the book and its stories and the poisonous bile inside them. Every single one of them acted like the women, the creatures, were the ones to blame, when it was the men who lusted after their beauty and then punished them for refusing, or giving in, or just existing.

Harry looked up at Malfoy. The towel had slipped from his brow, and Harry carefully put it back, turning it over to the cooler side.

Malfoy needed him. Harry wasn’t going to push anything. Not when Malfoy might not be able to refuse.

He wasn’t going to be like them, Harry saw the book out of the corner of his eye and kicked it out of sight under the bed, he wasn’t going to take advantage.

Maybe when Malfoy was better…

But not now.

* * *

  
  


An hour passed, maybe two. It had been winter dark since dinner, and there were no clocks in the tower so Harry couldn’t be sure of the time, except to know that it was late. Harry wished he brought his watch, though it wouldn’t have helped with the waiting.

He read through his latest Quidittich Weekly, checking in on Malfoy every time he turned a page to refresh the cooling charms on the damp cloth or turn it over. He had to get up once and wet it again when it started to dry out from the heat radiating off Malfoy’s skin before going back to what he was beginning to think of as his chair.

Malfoy made a noise, his face scrunching up with a frown as he woke and shoved the blankets down.

Harry sat up, “Here, let me-”

Malfoy slipped his legs out the side of the bed until his feet found the floor, and he slowly pushed himself up.

Harry helped Malfoy to his feet and was shaken off as soon as he could stand.

“Where are you-”

“Loo,” Malfoy muttered, walking unsteadily to the bathroom.

Harry stood frozen in indecision. Should he wait, should he go to the door in case Malfoy needed help, should he-

There was a flush and a few seconds later the sound of the tap being turned on.

Harry fumbled out his wand, and after a couple tries managed to cast the spell Pomfrey had taught him to dry and freshen the sheets.

The door creaked open, and Malfoy leaned against the frame with his eyes closed, taking a few heavy breaths before making his way back to bed. He sat down heavily, pulling open the buttons on his shirt one by one. The pale blue of his sleep shirt was darkened with sweat on his chest and down his back.

“Do you want to change?” Harry asked.

Malfoy got half the top buttons undone and decided that was enough, grabbing the back of his shirt and dragging it over his head. He dropped it unceremoniously on the floor and grabbed the glass from the table, bringing it to his lips before he realised it was empty.

“Sorry, I’ll-”

Malfoy shoved the glass at him with a frown that was too exhausted to hold any real malice.

Harry refilled the glass.

Malfoy drank the water slowly, cradling the glass in both hands.

“Do you want a fresh shirt?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded.

Harry went to Malfoy’s wardrobe. He expected it to be magically expanded and utterly stuffed with more clothes than was reasonable. But wasn’t even full. Malfoy had four sets of school robes with matching white button-ups and black trousers, a week’s worth of underclothes, all black, and a few sets of silk sleepwear, no other cotton ones, much less anything Harry would consider comfortable.

“Water,” Malfoy said, holding out his glass.

Harry walked back over and refilled the cup again. He picked up Malfoy discarded sleep shirt, “I could freshen this up?”

Malfoy crinkled his nose in disgust, “No.”

“Alright,” Harry sighed. He went downstairs and collected the t-shirt and shorts he was going to wear himself. He expected the same crinkled nose when he offered them out, but Malfoy took them without complaint.

The t-shirts Harry used for sleeping were all Dudley’s old ones, so they were always too big, but the shirt was closer to a smock on Malfoy. It almost reached Malfoy’s knees, which was good, as Harry saw quite a bit of leg as Malfoy kicked off his sleep pants with no regard for Harry’s presence. He turned away as Malfoy pulled up the boxer shorts, only turning back around when he heard the bed creak as Malfoy got in.

Malfoy pulled the blankets halfway up, and Harry’s pillow down, hugging it to his chest. He frowned at it, “what’d you do?”

“I freshened the sheets,” Harry said.

Malfoy shoved the pillow down, “you ruined it.”

“It’s a pillow,” Harry said, sitting in the armchair.

Malfoy frowned at him, “idiot.”

“Why don’t you go back to sleep? You’ll feel better in the morning,” Harry said.

“I won’t,” Malfoy said, pulling the sheets higher.

“You’ll still have a fever?” Harry asked.

“Probly not,” Malfoy shook his head, “but it hurt after, last time.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “that… sucks.”

Malfoy smiled faintly, “idiot.”

“Is this fever the worst one so far?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t laying on.

“How do you not know?” Harry asked.

Malfoy blinked and only managed to half reopen them, sleep starting to relax his face, “only been two and…before I wasn’t eating enough… And wasn’t sleeping well and it was… harder.” he let his eyes close, “feel stronger this time…”

Harry watched him sleep for a while before sitting back. He was helping. Good. That was good.

* * *

  
  


Draco opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut. He no longer felt desperately unbearably hot, but there was a deep and uncomfortable feeling left in the fevers wake. He flexed a hand and winced; his bones hurt. The joints were the worst, with a sharp stabbing pain that faded to a dull ache after every tiny movement he made.

The first fever had been the most draining, but nothing had hurt afterwards. Draco was starting to think that had changed his magic because afterwards he could feel people when they came close. And when they used their magic on him, he could feel how they felt about him. So far, most of them had been annoyed. Except Potter.

The second fever had left his muscles hurting so badly he had wanted to curl up in a ball and never move again. Now, it seemed like it was his bones. Draco couldn’t even fathom what the point of changing them would be.

Draco grit his teeth and raised a shaking hand over to the table and the waiting glass of water. It was like drinking out of a mountain stream, always cold, no matter how long ago Potter had cast the aguamenti, and the sort of refreshing you only got after spending a day out under a hot sun. It was the best water Draco had ever tasted. He couldn’t tell if the water actually tasted that way or if it was a reflection of Potter’s magic or both. Draco did know that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to explain to Potter that he had somehow managed to utterly ruin all other water for him. It was so typically, frustratingly, like Potter to be effortlessly good at something like _water_.

Draco carefully, carefully put the glass back, going slow to avoid dropping it. He could see the back of the armchair, dimly lit by the first light of dawn slipping through the small windows, and there was no Potter in it.

Of course, it made sense that Potter would go back downstairs to sleep. It was the sensible thing to do.

And it made his chest ache. Draco scolded himself for being so stupid.

There was a soft huff of that made Draco hold his breath. He looked down to the edge of the bed and saw that Potter hadn’t left after all. He was still in the chair, leaning over and resting his head and shoulders on the edge of the bed. Potter was using the pillow Draco had pushed away, with his arms curled underneath. His hair was an utter mess, scattered across the sheets, with likely another hair tie gone missing thanks to Potter’s carelessness.

Draco’s chest ached again but for an entirely different sort of reason. He guessed that Potter hadn’t meant to fall asleep because his glasses had mostly fallen off his face, one arm still trapped under his cheek. Draco reached down, pulling Potter’s glasses free.

He wasn’t worried about waking Potter, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t, with a sort of easy certainty that would bother him later in the full light of day. He grimaced at the persistent twinges of pain from his arm but did his best to ignore them as he set the glasses on the table where they wouldn’t get lost. He let his arm fall back onto the bed, stretching it out so his fingers could brush a few long curling strands of Potter’s hair.

He meant just to touch, but once he did, he found himself carefully, slowly, combing through Potter’s hair, untangling and smoothing the thick black strands through his fingers.

Draco didn’t know if Potter’s kindness was pity or guilt or his stupid hero complex or a combination of all three. He did know that since he was eleven, he wanted Potter’s attention, even if it was the worst kind. He wanted to be seen by Potter. He wanted to be acknowledged… This was… This wasn’t what he wanted. But it was still better than anything he had gotten before.

He knew he should just accept his situation and enjoy what he could of it. But it left a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn’t quite stomach.

* * *

  
  


Harry jerked awake, blinking and uncertain where he was or what had woke him up. An unfamiliar blanket fell off his shoulders as he sat up with a groan, his neck and back protesting at the uncomfortable way he had fallen asleep. Harry scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed his hair back, looking for his glasses and finding them on the bedside table. He didn’t remember setting them there or taking them off, his eyes had been so tired they hurt, and he had only meant to close them for a second.

Harry looked at his glasses for a moment before putting them on and then back at the blanket he was sure hadn’t had before. He stared at the empty bed, then got up. He used the loo, and borrowed Malfoy’s brush to comb out his hair, spelling his clothes clean until he could stop by Gryffindor tower and change.

Downstairs, Malfoy was sitting on the couch his comforter still cocooned around him, so only his face and one hand was sticking out as he finished eating his massive breakfast.

“Fever broke?” Harry asked, fighting through a yawn.

“Uhuh,” Malfoy said quietly.

“What time is it?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged.

Harry looked out the window with a sigh. It was the weekend, but if he wanted to talk with Hagrid it would be better to do it while it was still light outside.

“Potter.”

“Wha- yeah?”

Malfoy gestured for him to come over.

Harry walked to the other side of the table.

“Before you go,” Malfoy held out two pieces of dry toast stacked atop one another, “You missed breakfast.”

“…thanks,” Harry said, taking the toast, “Did you cover me with that blanket?”

“Was I supposed to leave you to freeze to death?” Malfoy said carefully wiping crumbs off his fingers.

Harry grinned, “I don’t think it was _quite_ that cold.”

Malfoy frowned, a faint flush colouring his face pink.

Harry’s smile grew.

“Would you…” Malfoy hesitated, looking stubbornly at his food rather than at Harry, “…ask the house elves to send up more food-”

“ _More_ food?”

“-just for a few days,” Malfoy said, “and I need- I’d like a pain potion.”

“Oh, that’s right, you said it would hurt,” Harry said, “Are you okay? Do you need anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Should I stay?” Harry asked.

Malfoy flushed even pinker, “I-That’s- no. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Very sure,” Malfoy said.

Harry set his toast down on an empty plate for a second to throw a few fresh logs on the fire. Brushing his hands off onto his pants before grabbing his breakfast again. “I have to meet up with Ron and Hermione, but I’ll be back later, yeah?”

Malfoy nodded.

Harry headed towards the stairs lifting the two pieces of sandwiched toast up to his mouth-

“Why are you doing this?”

Harry turned around at the top of the stairs, “Doing-?”

“Helping me,” Malfoy said, pulling his comforter tighter around himself.

Harry sighed. That was…complicated, and he didn’t really have the time or interest in explaining. “Because I want to,” he said simply and headed down the stairs.

Harry took a bite of toast. In-between the two slices Malfoy had spread butter and strawberry jam. It made a rather dismal meal surprisingly sweet.

* * *

  
  


“Merlin it’s cold!” Ron said, rubbing his hands together briskly before tucking them in his armpits.

Hermione rolled her eyes and unwound her scarf from around her neck, “Bend down.”

They stopped, and Ron leaned down, letting Hermione wrap her chunky knit scarf around his neck.

“There,” Hermione said, “I told you to wrap up.”

The grass of the grounds was shining silver with frost as they walked down to the Hagrid’s cabin.

Ron shrugged, “I forgot.”

Harry cast a warming charm over the three of them, “There, problem solved.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said.

“I keep expecting it to snow,” Hermione said, “There was so much rain during the fall, but all the precipitation seemed to dry up when it started freezing.”

“I’d rather not be walking through snow, so no complaints from me,” Harry said.

They checked Hagrid’s hut but it was empty, so they headed towards the edge of the forest and the stables that had been set up there after the war. Most of the magical creatures in Hagrid’s lessons lived there, each stable enlarged and adapted for each animal’s needs.

They stepped inside the slightly warmer building and quickly closed the door behind them.  
“Hello? Hagrid?” Harry called.  
There was a loud creak, and Hagrid poked his head out of one of the stable doors lining the walls and waved them over.

They all were quiet as they got close, hearing the laboured breathing from inside the stable. Standing in the doorway, Harry could see that the room’s occupant was a thestral.

Her wings had been pinned to her side by cloth straps so she wouldn’t bang them on the walls and ceiling. There was a smell of potions and salves in the air, the empty vials and jars sitting beside Hagrid’s feet, but the wound on the thestral’s front leg wasn’t healed. Hagrid was wrapping bandages around the thin black limb, blood seeping through the white cotton.

“Fer some reason nothin seems to be helpin,” Hagrid said.

The thestral was panting as her whole body shivered uncontrollably.

Hagrid pinned the bandage down and pushed himself up to his feet, his head brushing the ceiling. He ran a gentle hand over her flank, “There yeh are lass.”

The thestral wobbled, her hooves shifting uneasily under her as she tried putting her weight on the injured leg.

“What happened?” Ron asked.

Hagrid tugged on his beard, watching the thestral, “Somethin’ attacked the herd last night. She was tryin to protect her yearling near as I can tell.”

“And the yearling?” Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head, “Didn’t make it. …Was an awful thing to see, blood all over the place, didn’ even eat the poor thing.”

Harry caught Ron and Hermione’s eye.

“Hermione… what heals a werewolf bite?” Harry asked.

“Powdered silver and dittany,” Hermione said after a moment’s hesitation.

Hagrid raised his eyebrows, “Yeh don’ think-?”

Harry nodded.

“It couldn’t hurt to try,” Ron said.

“I ought to have a bit o’ that in my kit,” Hagrid said.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stepped out of the way as Hagrid went down the hallway to the storeroom.

“A werewolf after all then?” Ron whispered.

“It does have a wound that won’t heal,” Harry said.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, watching the thestral intently as it walked in a slow, unsteady circle in the small enclosure, “…the full moon was four days ago.”

“Here we are,” Hagrid said, as he came back and ducked through the door again, two small bottles cradled in his palm. He eased the thestral back to the centre of the room, murmuring gently to her as her tail flicked uneasily.

Hagrid mixed the silvery powder with the dittany into a shimmering paste. He removed the bandages and used his fingers to smear the mixture into the gouges on the thestral’s leg. The thestral made a weak cry and tried to back away but couldn’t budge from Hagrid’s firm grip. The wounds bubbled and curled inward, blood and viscera slowly being replaced with shiny pale scar tissue. The thestral tried to pull away again, her hooves sliding on the straw-covered floor and snapped weakly at Hagrid with her beak-like mouth.

Hagrid easily shifted out of range, holding onto her leg for a few seconds more until he was certain she would finish healing, then let her retreat to the corner of the room. He gathered up all the potions and medical supplies off the floor, slipping them into his pockets as he rose, and joined them by the door.

“McGonagall did give us somethin’ of a stern warning abou’ dangerous beasts in the forest,” Hagrid said, “Never did occur to me it was werewolves… Didn’ think they attacked animals, only other folks.”

“It might be,” Harry said, “But just to rule out it being anything else- there’s a pack of werewolves that were born wolves in the forest, right?”

“Ya don’t think- Not ol’ Borf…” Hagrid shook his head.

“Well, can werewolf…wolves, can they infect people like a regular werewolf?” Ron asked.

Hagrid frowned uncertainly, and they all turned to look at Hermione.

“Wh- I- _Really?_ ” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

“Well if anyone’s gonna know it’d be you,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Two werewolves having pups is enormously rare, and I think Hagrid’s the only one who ever raised them. Usually, they’re abandoned and die from exposure.”

“That’s right terrible, that is,” Hagrid said.

“The point being there’s no evidence either way,” Hermione said.

Hagrid shook his head, “Ol Borf couldna. He’s proper old. Regular wolves only live ter maybe eight or ten years, he’s going on… somat twenty odd years now. Only him and his sister left now out of the five of em. I brings em food every couple days cause they have trouble huntin themselves now. Sides, thestrals aren’t good eatin, too bony.”

Harry nodded. So it wasn’t a regular wolf or a transfigured dog, and the wound only healing with silver and dittany proved it was a werewolf-

Ron nudged Harry with his elbow.

“-Sorry, Hagrid, we’ve really got to get back to our studies,” Hermione said.

“I understand,” Hagrid nodded, looking disappointed, “Yeh’ve gotta be ready for yer NEWTs. It’s important for yer futures.”

“I’d be happy to have a cuppa,” Ron said, and quickly corrected after seeing Hermione’s glare, “But some other time though, yeah?”

Hagrid nodded, “I’ll be glad ter see you when you do.”

Hermione and Ron led the way out of the stables and back into the bitter cold, Harry following a step behind already deep in thought.

“So Malfoy’s doing better?” Hermione asked.

“…yeah,” Harry said absently.

“I’m sure both you and him will be wanting to catch up on the classwork you’ve missed the last few days,” Hermione went on, “Ron and I can walk you through it so you can help Malfoy-”

“Why are you always talking about Malfoy?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing, “It’s all you ever ask about anymore.”

“Well, you do live with him, and fancy him, and rather a lot of time is taken up by him,” Ron said.

“We’re being supportive,” Hermione said.

“That’s nice of you, I suppose,” Harry said, unable to hide the lingering suspicion from his voice. “But right now, we need to talk to McGonagall and sort out our next course of action.”

Both Hermione and Ron hesitated and looked at one another in that way that raised Harry’s hackles.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t tell McGonagall,” Hermione said, her words carefully measured, “but she’s already told the professors and prefects, and the aurors and people at Hogsmeade. The forbidden forest is massive, finding something that doesn't want to be found would be nearly impossible. I don't think there's anything else to be done."

“There is no next course of action,” Ron said with a faint shrug, “The world’s been saved, mate. It’s done.”

Harry stopped walking. The wind whipped past them, carrying tiny pinpricks of snow.

“We’re going to be starting auror training in the summer-”

Ron kicked at the frozen grass, “But you aren’t an auror now.”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean _you_ , it’s _us_ , we’re going to-”

Ron winced, “I dunno, Harry, I was thinking of working with George at the shop. He could use a bit of help, and then maybe going the mind-healer Mione’s been seeing…”

“But we were gonna be Aurors together…partners,” Harry said.

Ron shrugged again, “The job isn’t going anywhere. I can always join later, right?”

“You could always take a break as well,” Hermione suggested, “Just for a while. My mind-healer is very good, I could-”

“I don’t need a break!” Harry snapped, “Where’d all this come from!? Healers and breaks!? You’ve just decided these things on your own-!”

“We didn’t just decide!” Hermione shouted over him, “We’ve been talking about it for ages! But you never listen and when you do you get angry and storm off-!”

“I’m listening now, aren’t I!” Harry shouted back.

“We’re worried about you!” Hermione yelled.

A heavy gust filled with snow blew through them, making Harry step back and Hermione stumble as it pushed at her back.

Ron put a steadying arm around Hermione.

“I said I’m listening,” Harry said stiffly.

“…It’s like this, mate,” Ron said, “All summer you were helping the aurors round-up death eaters, and as soon as you come back to school you’re trying to put a stop to all the bullying and then this werewolf thing-” he shook his head, “-to be honest it’s too much. You never stop. And I know you’ve got it as bad as me when it comes to the nightmares and jumpiness and maybe not being quite as right in the head.”

“We were hoping that maybe being with Malfoy could help you focus on more normal things,” Hermione said, “kid things, growing up things-”

“Happy things,” Ron said.

Harry clenched his jaw.

“Not that NEWT’s are easy or anything, but it’s a chance for us to be normal for a bit,” Ron said.

“Not hunt a werewolf,” Hermione said softly.

“It’s _dangerous-_ ” Harry said.

“Which is precisely why we shouldn’t be involved!” Hermione said fiercely, “Something is wrong with this whole thing!”

“If we can stop Voldemort, we can-” Harry said.

“They were wizards, people who think logically and make plans! A vicious animal that’s as strong as Hagrid and resistant to magic and can kill you in a heartbeat is-” Hermione’s breath caught, and she pressed her lips together as she blinked back tears.

Ron pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. His voice was quiet over her shoulder, “We just don’t want you to get hurt, cause we care about you. You’re our best friend, you know?”

Harry nodded stiffly, “Yeah, I know.”

Ron held out an arm to pull Harry into the hug.

Harry took a step towards the castle, “I’m going to tell McGonagall…”

“Harry!” Hermione said in dismay.

“I promise I won’t do anything on my own, but if something does happen, I _am _going to help,” Harry said and turned, walking back up to Hogwarts alone.__

____

* * *

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

  
  


There was tap-tap-tap against the windowpane. Draco blinked and slowly sat up from the couch, pulling his comforter around himself as he shuffled to his feet. Draco opened the window, removing a potion vial tied to the owl’s leg and drinking it in one swallow, shuddering as the worst of his pain eased.

The owl hopped from the windowsill onto Draco’s shoulder, using the fabric of the comforter to hold on. They hooted softly and began carefully preening the few loose locks of hair near Draco’s temple.

Draco stared out at the lawns and the forest, far away and far below. For a long time.

* * *

  
  


“…I see,” McGonagall said with a frown, “I shall have to speak with Hagrid about where in the forest the herd was.”

“And-?” Harry said expectantly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, picking up her teacup and taking a sip before saying, “And?”

“Aren’t you going to cancel Hogsmeade weekend?” Harry said, shifting uneasily on the hard old fashioned chairs in McGonagall’s office.

“The last Hogsmeade weekend before christmas? There would be a riot,” McGonagall said.

“But-!”

McGonagall set her cup down with a clink and held up a hand, “I understand your concern, Harry, I really do.”

“You understand? So what, you’re going to just let it go? Just hope things work out like Dumbledore did?” Harry said.

McGonagall mouth pursed, “That isn’t fair-”

“It doesn’t have to be fair if it’s the truth,” Harry said.

“-to my situation,” McGonagall went on firmly, “This is a school not a fiefdom. I can’t order the gates barred and locked. I find myself in a constant balancing act between trying to maintain a safe learning environment, and allowing enough freedom to the students for their personal enrichment. And, unfortunately, Albus allowed far too much freedom. Trying to reign that freedom back in for the students that still remember it has resulted in a number of complaints to the Board of Governors, which they have conveyed to me.” She slid a stack of parchment across her desk, pulling out a letter and frowning at it disapprovingly.

McGonagall held out the letter to Harry, who skimmed through the contents.

“What about the auror’s? Can they help any?”Harry asked.

“They can, I’m sure. Will they? I very much doubt it,” McGonagall said. “I understand that they have other priorities right now and trying to track down a dangerous creature in a forest full of dangerous creatures is not one of them.”

Harry put the letter back on the desk.

“Unfortunately, I am beholden to the Ministry and the Board of Governors, both of which can remove me from my position,” McGonagall said.

“They wouldn’t- would they? Not after everything you’ve done,” Harry said.

“My role in the war has been some help, but I don’t have the power or influence that Albus had and… There are those that would use the instability following the war to push for changes that would better benefit them.”

Harry sat back with a frown.

McGonagall rubbed her temples, “…I can shorten the curfew during the weekend to have everyone back to the castle before it’s dark. And have the students travel in groups of at least three.”

Harry nodded, “That’s-”

“And you are to do nothing,” McGonagall said, sounding exhausted, “I understand that your desire to help is how you manage your trauma-”

Harry twitched, gripping the armrests.

“-but you are not an auror, or a professor, or a prefect. You’re one of my students, Harry. And if anything were to happen to you, not only would I never want to see that, but I will be the bearer of the repercussions,” McGonagall said with concern. “ _I_ will handle the werewolf in the forest. If you wish to continue your campaign against bullying, I heartily endorse your efforts. I think it will have a positive and long-lasting effect.”

Harry bit down on his tongue and the anger that roiled there. “Fine. Thanks, I guess, for doing _something_ ,” Harry bit out, shoving out of the chair and leaving the tower, going down the stairs two at a time and nearly falling as the stairs moved underneath him.

He was breathing heavily when he reached the bottom. Harry leaned against the wall for a second and saw his hands trembling out of the corner of his eyes. He shoved them in his pockets and hurried down the hallway.

trauma

_trauma_

Why was everyone suddenly-

He was _fine_.

* * *

  
  


The fire in the tower was banked low, the table was scattered with books and notes and papers halfway written. But the couch was empty, and so Harry went up to Malfoy’s room where he was fast asleep. It was still early, just after the dinner Harry had hardly touched, eating just enough to get by before his friends could try and talk to him again.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have it in him to hold all the anger back he was determined not to show. So Harry had walked around the castle, keeping an eye out for- anything- bullying, trouble, anything he could put his mind to and when he couldn’t find that, he walked every hallway, passage and hidden door he knew of until his feet had lead him back here.

Malfoy was breathing evenly, the faint moonlight highlighting only how pale he was, with no terrible flush of fever in sight. He was wearing Harry’s tshirt again, loose and faded from dark blue to grey with a few small holes around the collar.

Harry pushed the chair closer to the bed and sat. Malfoy had lost a pillow, Harry picked it up from the floor, folding it in half over his arms so he could still see Malfoy when he laid his head down on the edge of the bed.

The turmoil in his head was slowly easing, and his heartbeat was slowing. He hadn’t even noticed it was going too fast. The trembling in his hands stopped and twitching in the corner of his eye that he hated-

Harry took a deep breath. And another.

The pillow smelled like Malfoy.

It was nice.

Harry blinked back the ache in his eyes, inexplicably feeling like he might start crying.

* * *

  
  


Something- no _someone_ was touching his hair… very gently and carefully.

Harry opened his eyes. Malfoy was laying on his side, curled in close to Harry. His fingers combing through his hair from the bottom and slowly working his way up until he could slide the entire lock of hair through his fingers. He was so focused on his task; he didn’t notice Harry watching him as he worked.

Malfoy had very elegant hands. The fingers were long and sort of…pretty? Not like Harry’s. And they were so careful, never pulling or impatient even with the more stubborn tangles. It was strange watching Malfoy being so gentle, it didn’t fit in Harry’s mind with the image he had of Malfoy; someone beautiful but sharp, full of angles and barbed words. Malfoy being soft when he had a fever made sense. This… didn’t. Liking sick-Malfoy was easy because it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like it went beyond this tower, this room, this moment.

Harry shuddered, and sat up, pushing his hair back with both hands. Malfoy went very still like he was holding his breath.

“Do you have a fever?” Harry asked.

“No,” Malfoy said.

Harry pressed his hand against Malfoy’s forehead, but it felt normal. “Alright, well…” he rocked back on his heels, uneasy, “I’d better go. Er…got to go study, catch up on the wand work so I can show you how it goes…” He turned-

“What did you mean, ‘because you want to’?” Malfoy asked.

“What?” Harry turned back.

“Yesterday, I asked why you were helping me,” Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, “I because I want to. There’s isn’t always a hidden motive, you know.”

“Yes, there is,” Malfoy said, looking at his hands, “Is it pity? Or guilt? Or you’re stupid hero complex-?”

“ _It’s because I want to_ ,” Harry snapped and left.

* * *

  
  


Draco let out the breath he was holding, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it over his head.

“Foolish boy,” Draco said quietly, his father’s voice echoing the words in his head, “why can’t you do anything right.”

* * *

  
  


Harry went back to Gryffindor tower, it was late enough that the dorm was mostly empty except for Nev having a lie in. Harry grabbed a change of clothes and took a very long shower that made him feel slightly less like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

Breakfast was nearly over when he reached the great hall.

He braced himself when he saw Ron and Hermione still sitting on one of the long benches and walked over, “Hey…”

Ron shot to his feet and pulled Harry into a hug.

“I- wha-” Harry managed as he was given a tight squeeze.

“You left me hanging last time,” Ron said, as he let go and sat back down, patting bench beside him, “Hermione said we need ten hugs a day-”

“Not hugs, just touch,” Hermione corrected, “we need meaningful touch at least ten times a day because humans are highly social animals and it helps to regulate our-”

“Well, I like hugs, so I say ten hugs,” Ron said, “I wish I could go back in time and tell young me to hug people more.”

Harry sat down, filling his plate with what was left of the picked over breakfast foods.

Hermione smiled, “I’m pretty sure younger you wouldn’t have listened.”

“Oof, yeah, you’re probably right,” Ron said.

Hermione took a deep breath, leaning over to see Harry, “So, what did McGonagall say?”

Harry hesitated, but they were his best friends, and even if they fought, he’d rather tell them than not. So he did his best to tell them everything McGonagall had said about Hogsmeade weekend and the Board of Governors. He left out the parts about trauma and McGonagall ordering him to leave the werewolf alone, feeling a spark of anger just remembering it.

Hermione looked at Ron before saying, “…It sounds good? She’s doing what she can.”

“Yeah, Dumbledore would’ve just said, don’t go in the forest or you’ll die-”

“If that,” Hermione muttered.

“-And then we would’ve anyway,” Ron said.

“Ha Ha,” Harry said flatly.

“So what are you going to do?” Hermione asked.

“I’m not going into the forest,” Harry said sourly. “I’m just going to patrol the section of the road that goes by the forest on Hogsmeade weekend.”

“For the whole day?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded, “Until all the students are all back.”

“Alright, we’ll need food, and maybe a thermos of tea or cocoa,” Hermione said.

“A thermos?” Ron asked.

“You’ve seen it before, it’s big blue with plastic-” Hermione said, making the general shape with her hands.

“Oh, right, right,” Ron said, “I’ll remember my hat and scarf this time.”

“And gloves,” Hermione said.

“You’re going to come along?” Harry asked.

“Of course we are,” Hermione said, “It’s a fairly sensible plan, and not too dangerous. And we have a few weeks to prepare.”

“Really-?” Harry said, “But you said-”

“Well, yes but…” Hermione hesitated

“Honest, mate?” Ron said, “We’d rather you dropped the wolf thing, but we’re not gonna abandon you. We’re gonna help you out as much as we can.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, his voice gonna little rough. He cleared his throat, “Sorry for blowing up at you.”

Ron nodded and held his arms open, “Hug number two?”

Harry rolled his eyes and let himself be hugged.

* * *

  
  


Draco eventually dragged himself out of bed when the grumbling of his stomach was too loud to ignore.

He studied as he ate his breakfast, one hand holding Granger’s notes, the other a fork. As soon as he finished, he started walking as he read, absent-mindedly moving the table out of the way so he could make a full circuit of the room without stopping or turning. He didn’t know how long he had paced before he was fully aware he was doing it.

He tried to sit down, but before long his own incessantly tapping fingers and knee bouncing distracted him too much and he stood up and went back to walking. He worried that his fever was coming back, but it wasn’t the same, he didn’t feel the itch under his skin and was only as overheated as a person got from pacing in a small fire-warm room.

He just felt so restless.

And he didn’t know what it meant.

So he paced and paced, and did his best to distract himself.

* * *

  
  


They went to the library after Harry finished eating and let Hermione bully them into studying. After lunch, they all headed to the Gryffindor dorm. The sitting area was crowded and loud so they retreated to the boy’s dorm which was empty except for them and they could practise their more recent spell work and practise casting wordlessly which would net a much higher score on the NEWTs than having to say a spell out loud.

As it got darker and darker, and neither Ron or Harry had it in them to focus, they decided to take a break.

Harry laid back on his bed, relaxing into the familiarity of it, staring up at the hangings above his head.

“Sooooo… how’s it going with Malfoy?” Ron asked.

Harry looked over at Ron’s bed.

Hermione was still reading from her textbook, her back against the headboard of Ron’s bed. Ron was taking up the other half of the small bed. He shifted onto his side to give Harry a cheeky grin, propping his head up with one hand.

Harry sighed. “Again?”

“You’ve got the most interesting sort of thing happening around. All anyone else is doing is studying. Even _I’m_ studying. It’s boring.”

“It’s important,” Hermione said.

“Doesn’t make it any less boring,” Ron said, “So come, tell us how it’s going. Had duels yet? Or thrown a punch?”

“No. And no. It’s been fine,” Harry said shortly.

“Fine? With bloody Malfoy? That’s either a flat out lie or you’re practically snogging,” Ron said.

Hermione lifted her book higher to hide a grin, kicking Ron lightly in the side, “Leave it alone, Ron, if he doesn’t want to talk about it-”

“But he might not, or might just need a bit of prodding first-”

“If he needs prodding then he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Hermione said.

“Maybe it works that way for girls,” Ron said, “but a bloke needs prodding and probably some ribbing. It’s a bit of a push is all.”

“That’s stupid,” Hermione said.

“It’s not stupid, that’s just how it works,” Ron said.

Hermione let out a huge sigh and raised her book up so it covered her face.

Ron reached up and prodded the book cover and got his hand smacked away. He reached up to do it again.

“What if…” Harry looked back up at the curtains with a growing frown, “What if he _does_ like me?”

“…That’s good? Right?” Ron said, “You said you wanted him to like you?”

“But that was- It was more abstract? I guess?” Harry said, glancing over at Ron.

Ron raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“It’s like-” Harry grasped after the right words and mostly failed to find them, “It’s… It was nice to just have a crush? Like because I knew nothing was going to come of it I could just enjoy it, sort of.”

“But if he likes you it’s… bad?” Ron hazarded.

“I don’t- I don’t know?” Harry said, “Like he’s good looking-”

“No accounting for taste,” Ron joked.

“-to me anyway, and when he’s got a fever he’s really… cute,” Harry said, his face getting hot, “but he’s still _Malfoy_ , all snotty and rude and mean-”

“Yeah, we’ve met Malfoy,” Ron said dryly.

Hermione looked over the top of her book, “What makes you think he likes you?”

“Err…” Harry felt his face get hotter and looked rather fixedly at the awnings, “…he, um played with my hair, and borrowed some clothes… that he keeps wearing.”

“Well… I’d say he likes you quite a lot,” Hermione said.

Ron nodded emphatically, “Sounds arse over tits to me.”

“That seems very bold for Malfoy, though” Hermione said, “Have you told him you like him?”

Harry shook his head, “No- Not at- No.”

“If someone took care of me like Harry has with Malfoy, I’d probably think they fancied me too,” Ron said.

Hermione kicked him in the side again, “Someone being kind doesn’t automatically mean they’re interested in you.”

“I would think they were,” Ron said under his breath.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Why are boys so stupid?”

“Search me,” Ron said with a shrug. “So, what are you going to do about Malfoy?”

Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his face, “I don’t know…”

“Well, I don’t think you should lead Malfoy on if you’re not going to commit to being in an actual relationship,” Hermione said in her know-it-all voice.

“With Malfoy?” Harry said to himself.

“Relationships are hard work,” Hermione added, “Everyone has flaws and quirks. Whether it’s friendship or romance, you have to learn to love the person as they are, not the image you have in your head.”

“Says you two,” Harry grumbled, “You got years to figure that out.”

Ron shot back, “Like you didn’t have years of getting to know Malfoy.”

“And he’s an obnoxious twit,” Harry said.

Hermione turned a page in her book, “Then perhaps you only have good things left to learn about him.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort and hesitated, but Hermione was right, as per usual. All the new things he was learning about Malfoy were cute or nice or interesting. “…fucking hell,” Harry muttered in dismay.

“It’s not that bad. Might work out better than you’d think,” Ron said, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m gonna visit the loo.”

When the door closed behind Ron, Hermione carefully closed her book, marking her place with her finger. “The hugging started after the war.”

“Huh?” Harry said, putting his glasses back on and half-hearted combing his hair out of his face, “Ron, you mean?”

Hermione nodded, “I think it’s because he feels like he never got to say goodbye to Fred. And there are the letters, he never used to write them, now he sends at least one a week, usually more. He gets panicky if he doesn’t hear back after a few days…” she smiled sadly, “Everyone’s had difficulties after the war-”

“Not you,” Harry said.

Hermione traced the embossed edges of the leather cover,“…I was going to work in the Ministry after the war, that was my plan, but… after the battle, I just- I never want to see someone die in front of me again.” She took a deep breath and looked up at Harry, “I know. I’ll probably see more people die working in Mungo’s than I would ever see in a desk job, but I want to be able to do _something_.”

Harry swallowed, not sure what to say.

“Everyone has had difficulties after the war, even me,” Hermione said as firmly as she could manage, “…I just wanted you to know you’re not alone and if you could just think about what I said yesterday?”

Harry took a deep breath, “…I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Hermione said and flipped her book open, “Come on, we can work on the spells you missed some more before Ron gets back.”

Harry groaned and forced himself to sit up, “Alright, fine.”

* * *

  
  


Draco stared up at the dark ceiling of his room, eyes drifting closed from exhaustion but unable to fully let himself sleep. The bottom of his feet had started to ache from all the walking, and he had ended up sitting on his balcony, wrapped up in his comforter, watching the sun set behind the forest. A thin layer of snow had coloured the ground white, and a feeling in the air promised more snow soon.

He finally felt Potter coming up the stairs and tried to stay awake until he could hear him as well. Draco thought he heard Potter’s footsteps before he dropped off to sleep.

* * *

  
  


Draco awoke to silence and went downstairs to find the living area just as empty as it had been when he left it. But the fire had been lit and fed with a few logs, and Potter’s bed was rumpled. So he had slept in his cot, but he hadn’t stayed. Potter hadn’t even used the loo. Just left.

Draco supposed that since he only needed Potter to sleep, he didn’t have a reason to stay. Even when Draco had another fever, Potter’s help was nice, but he didn’t need it.

He just wanted it.

Draco sighed and tried to push the thought out of his mind and focus on his studies. Until the restlessness sent him to pacing once again.

* * *

  
  


Draco felt the gentle prickle between his shoulder blades that told him Potter was coming up the stairs and stopped pacing, frozen in the middle of the tower, book open on his hand. He saw the top of Potter’s hair out of the corner of his eye, even as he stared fixedly at his book, only forcing himself to look up when Potter stopped at the top of the stairs, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing?” Potter asked.

“Studying,” Draco said, his words sounding too quiet, swallowed up by the room, “You came back.”

“Yeah? I just finished dinner,” Potter said.

“I thou-”

“Don’t say ‘I thought you left’ again.” Potter said, “It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not,” Draco said.

Potter blinked, “What? Then why do you keep saying it?”

Draco shrugged, feeling small and tired, “Why would you?” He didn’t want to see Potter’s expression and turned to the fireplace, taking a step closer to the grate and its radiating heat.

“Why would I…come back?” Potter said, sounding even more confused, “I- you need me around to sleep. Right?”

“I could probably find someone else. …I’m a lot stronger than I was when you started staying here,” Draco said, “So, you don’t have to- I’m not- It’s fine if you go. I know you’d rather be spending time with your friends.”

“We could probably be friends. I said it before,” Potter said.

Draco smiled sourly, “I don’t believe you. If you wanted to be friends with me, you would be here.”

“I’m not-”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Draco said.

“Is this about the whole, ‘why are you doing this thing’?” Potter asked with a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you about that. I was… in a bad mood, and yeah, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“I understand… I shouldn’t have touched your hair so-”

“It’s not that!” Potter cut him off, “That was… sort of… nice. I- Would you look at me, at least?”

“Nice?” Draco said, feeling suddenly off-balance and turning back around to see if Potter was mocking him, but Potter’s expression was as earnestly confused as it had been before.

Potter shifted his weight from foot to foot, “…I’ve never really had anyone touch my hair like that.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter entire demeanour switch to annoyed in a heartbeat, “It means what it means, Malfoy. No one’s ever touched my hair like that before, and it was nice. What is there to read into that?”

“Pansy used to play with my hair, it was nice. It didn’t mean anything, she was just trying to curry favour with me,” Draco said.

“And are you trying to curry favour with me?” Potter challenged him.

Draco frowned sulkily, “It would be stupid to assume otherwise, considering our history and social positions-”

“Answer the bloody question, Malfoy,” Potter said.

“No,” Draco said.

“Exactly-”

“And you’re an idiot to believe that,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter said.

“I am not someone you should trust, Potter,” Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes, “Well, I do. So tough shit.”

“Why?” Draco asked before he could stop himself.

“It’s called a second chance, and I’ve given you one,” Potter said.

“But _why_?” Draco asked.

Potter’s hands twitched at his sides like he was a moment away from throwing them up in dismay. “Because…. Because you had to do bad things to survive, but you’re not a bad person,” his face scrunched up in thought, “And you went through hell. _And_ you helped me in the end, _twice even_ , once at the manor and once in the room of lost things.”

Draco shuddered at the shadow of the memory, “You pulled me from the fire.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die if I could help it,” Potter said.

Draco wanted to ask if Crabbe deserved to die, but he knew there was no reason for Potter and Weasley to have risked trying to save any of them. It was just luck that things had turned out the way they did.

“You alright? You went pale all of a sudden,” Potter said, walking across the room, hand reaching up.

“Fine,” Draco said before Potter could touch him and shatter all his resolve, “bad memories.”

Potter nodded, letting his arm drop, “Yeah… So that should be enough at least to convince you I mean it, about trusting you.”

“Fine, but I still think you’re an idiot for doing it,” Draco said.

Potter threw up his hands, “For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, were you always this-this paranoid?”

Draco twitched backwards, feeling faintly gut-punched and breathless, “…and who am I supposed to trust? My father told me I was better because of my blood, that those who were muggleborn were somehow lesser, that V-Voldemort represented something better, a better world and- and _none_ of it was true. _None of it_.”

“Malfoy…”

“My own parents! All my friends! Everyone I was supposed to trust-! So who?” Draco snapped.

Potter reached out to him, and Draco jerked his hand up, smacking Potter away. Draco tucked his hand close to his chest to hide how his fingers were trembling. The bottom of his feet ached. He wanted to sit but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be smaller, and he hated the feeling.

“Do you trust me?” Potter said.

“I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t trust you, you fucking idiot!”

Potter frowned, “So why don’t you trust me when I tell you something?”

“I trust you not to hurt me on purpose. I have no reason to trust what you say,” Draco said.

Potter’s chin twitched up. He stared at Draco, searching his expression, and Draco felt his breathing pick up with the undercurrent of anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said.

“About-”

“About what happened in sixth year, in the bathro-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Draco cut him off.

“I only want to-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Draco snapped.

Potter’s mouth pressed into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “So what? You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen? Like you’re pretending you aren’t a veela?”

Draco stepped back.

“No one’s going to ask you permission! No one’s going to ask if it’s what you want! It’s just what you are, and you have to deal with it because no one’s going to fix for you! No matter how much you… want them to…” Potter froze, his expression torn and looking on the verge of tears. He dragged his hands through his hair, “I have- I need to get out of here, I need some air.” Potter turned on his heel and nearly ran to the stairs, “I- I’ll be back- I just have to-” Potter’s voice faded out as he went down.

Draco leaned his weight against the fireplace mantle and took a shaky breath.

* * *

  
  


“Harry’s left.”

“You’re sure?” Hermione asked, leaning closer.

Ron nodded, pointing to the marauder’s map where Harry’s name was moving down the hallway, away from the small tower room where Malfoy’s name remained, “You ready?”

Hermione hesitated, biting her bottom lip.

“It was your idea,” Ron said.

“I know,” Hermione said, sounding torn.

“I just meant that we don’t have to do it. We could just wait until Harry asks Malfoy if we can talk to him,” Ron said.

Hermione shot him a look, “If Harry actually intends to ask and doesn’t just want to keep Malfoy all to himself.”

“Or he hasn’t gotten around to it. It’s been like four days, Mione,” Ron said.

Hermione sighed, “Or that. Anyway, let’s go before Harry goes back to the tower.”

Ron nodded and folded up the map as they headed to the base of Malfoy’s tower. “Harry’s sure it’s not contagious right?”

“If it was contagious Harry wouldn’t be able to spend so much time with Malfoy,” Hermione said.

“Oh.”

“But even ruling out all infectious there are so many other possibilities. The magic community is relatively small, and then pure-bloods obsessed with ‘blood purity’ limit their own gene pool even further by refusing to marry muggle-borns or even half-bloods sometimes, increasing their fertility issues, birth defects and rare disorders such as haemophilia-”

“Hemo-what?” Ron asked.

“It’s a rare condition where the blood doesn’t clot properly so even a small wound can be fatal,” Hermione said.

“That’s a new one,” Ron said, “Thought up any other theories since last time?”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, “...I mean, the problem with all my previous theories is that they are almost always discovered by early childhood. The sorts of illness that show up later in life are often a lot more...”

“Deadly?” Ron guessed.

“Sometimes. But sometimes they just make life harder, like Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, multiple sclerosis, chronic fatigue syndrome or… or, and I’m afraid this is the most likely in Malfoy’s case, maledictus,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I know that one!” Ron said, “That’s a blood curse, right?”

Hermione nodded, “It’s called a cursed bloodline because it does run in families-”

“Especially pure-blood families?”

“Yes. It’s likely a recessive inherited condition that mutates a persons magic. It typically results in their magic becoming toxic and the person then slowly wastes away, somewhat like an autoimmune disorder,” Hermione said.

Ron frowned in thought, “I thought I heard once of a bloke turning into a horse because of it.”

“It sometimes rarely causes uncontrolled transformation that the person eventually can’t change back from,” Hermione said.

“Well, that sounds better than dying,” Ron said.

Hermione pulled her robes tighter around herself with a shiver as they turned down one of the smaller side hallways headed to the back of the castle. “It’s not like being an animagus. It’s more like forced transfiguration, the person tends to lose their human mind within weeks or months of being unable to change back.”

“There are worse things to be than a horse,” Ron said.

“Transformation is such a strange thing,” Hermione said, “An animagus’ human form mirrors the health of their animal form, so if they have an injury or disability that’s reflected in both forms.”

Ron took Hermione’s arm and steered her around a suit of armour before she walked into it.

“But any injuries a werewolf acquires while transformed will heal, except wounds caused by themselves or other werewolves because of the necrotic effect of the werewolf infection. AND did you know a master of transfiguration can restore damage caused to an animal while it’s transfigured. There was one recorded instance in which a witch fell from her broom while flying and was fatally injured in the fall, and rather than risk apparating to a hospital and her dying in the time it took to get to a healer, they transfigured her into a bird. Once at the hospital, a master of transfiguration changed her back, and all her injuries were healed, though she was still very traumatised by what happened-” Hermione blinked, “why did we stop?”

“We’re here,” Ron said, pointing to a small wooden door set into the wall.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Hermione said.

Ron shrugged, “I like it when you get all passionate about stuff. And I thought you needed it, you ramble more when you’re nervous.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I’m not nervous, it’s going to be _fine_. We’re going to apologise for showing up unannounced and try to talk with Malfoy and maybe see if he wants to help Harry at all; and if he does, then maybe we get his help to distract Harry from the werewolf, and of course if he doesn’t we might at least convince him not to cause more harm-”

“You’re rambling again,” Ron said gently.

Hermione squeezed his arm, “…okay, I am nervous, but it’s still going to be fine.”

“Alright then, let’s go,” Ron said and pulled the door open.

* * *

  
  


Harry walked around the castle. He meant to look for bullying, but the first people he saw sent him walking down a different hallway, avoiding students, teachers, anyone. Harry zigzagged through narrow servants hallways, up moving stairs and hidden passages, passing through empty rooms with doorways connecting one hall to another, until anyone else would be hopelessly turned around. Until he stopped walking at the end of the third-floor corridor, nothing but a blank stone wall in front of him, and everything he had been trying to walk away from caught up and slammed into his mind.

“I didn’t want someone to fix it for me. I didn’t need to be saved,” Harry said, his words bouncing off the stone and coming back sounding smaller.

“No one ever came to save me,” Harry shook his head, “Not when I was locked in my cupboard. Not when Voldemort was trying to kill me. I thought maybe Sirius-” the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them down.

“I’m fine,” he said, hardly more than a whisper and turned on his heel, heading back to the tower, assembling a new apology in his mind as he went.

As he turned the corner that led to the tower stairs, he saw two figures by the door. In a section of the castle that was always deserted.

Harry broke into a run and nearly tripped over his own feet when he got close enough to recognise who it was, “Ron? Hermione? What are you doing here?”

“Harry. You’re back,” Hermione said, immediately looking guilty, “We were just… going to talk with Malfoy.”

“What? But I never-I haven’t asked him yet,” Harry said.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah. We thought you forgot.”

“It’s been three days since you asked me!” Harry said.

“Four.”

Harry glared at Ron.

“It’s been four days,” Ron said, and tried an awkward smile.

“We’re sorry,” Hermione said, “We just wanted to talk to him as soon as possible.”

“How did you even know where he was?” Harry demanded.

Ron pulled the Marauder’s map out of his back pocket and held it out apologetically, “Borrowed this.”

“Borrowing assumes you asked permission,” Harry snapped irritably, taking the map back.

“It didn’t work out anyway, Malfoy wasn’t there. I swear he was up there on the map last I looked,” Ron said.

Harry shivered, a chill going down his spine, “What do you mean he wasn’t there?”

“We went up the tower, but it was empty,” Hermione said.

“He can’t _not_ be there,” Harry said.

“They’re pretty small rooms, it’s not like we missed him,” Ron said, “Is everything alright, mate?”

Harry didn’t answer, frantically unfolding the map and pressing his wand to it, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

The parchment filled with the familiar inked likes of the castle. Harry’s eyes instantly found the section of the castle where they stood. He saw their names clustered together in the hallway with no one else nearby. The tower was empty.

Harry started frantically scanning every name, on every floor, looking for ‘Draco Malfoy’.

“Give us a side, we’ll help you look,” Ron said, taking one edge of the map.

Hermione took the other side, and they searched the map together, and Harry tried to quell his rising panic.

“I found him!” Hermione said excitedly, pointing at the map.

Ron’s eyebrows rose, “What the fuck is Malfoy doing there?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief, “I don’t know. I have to go-” he folded up the map and slid into his pocket, jogging down the hallway to go find Malfoy.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

  
  


(Earlier that day)

  
  


Draco leaned his weight against the fireplace mantle and took a shaky breath.

Potter was long gone when he finally went upstairs to his room. He fully intended to lay down and try to rest, but he found himself walking over to the balcony doors, unlatching them and pushing them open, shivering as the cold air rolled over him.

The sun had set hours ago, but the lights from the castle cast a glow onto the grounds below like a candle, made even brighter by the snow falling in puffs of white that settled onto Draco’s shoulders and hair.

Draco stepped out to the bannister wall, his socks growing wet, his sore feet at first soothed and then stinging from the cold. He didn’t notice. All he saw was the edges of the forest and the long curve of Black lake. The uneasy restlessness that had been creeping under his skin the for last two days suddenly flooded through him filling him like a tidal wave, and he finally understood it. It was being cooped up inside because of a storm that would not ease, it was being bedbound to let a potion finish healing a broken arm, it was the need to get out, to run until the air burned in his throat, to be free.

Draco felt a prickle start between his shoulders and spread down his arms, heat following in its wake. Slowly, slowly, it moved without burning, without the mixture of fear and aggression he felt when he met Fleur. The prickle grew stronger, into a pulse, into a thrum of heat that moved with his heartbeat. An uncomfortable feeling of things being pulled and stretched that were never meant to be stretched, a feeling he remembered acutely from being turned into a ferret, and the terror that followed from being pummelled against the ground like a ragdoll.

He squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t look, he didn’t want to see it. He tried to grab the edge of the bannister with hands that could not grip or grab and were too long and- Draco leaned over the stone, his stomach heaving violently and emptying itself of his dinner. He gasped weakly and spat to try and rid himself of the taste in his mouth. He could hear fabric tearing like tissue paper as his shirt ripped, and his arms were exposed to the open air.

The thrumming furnace of heat and magic that was filling him almost reminded him of the first time he held his wand and his magic seemed to pour out of him in a rain sparks. Vaguely comforting, vaguely horrifying, that this was his magic, that it was always like this, always meant to betray him like this. He squeezed his eyes shut harder, so the tears couldn’t escape, so he saw spots of light dancing behind his eyes until the thrumming heat ebbed and all that was left was the snow soaking into his clothing.

Draco opened his eyes. There was- he reached up to touch his face but where his thumb used to be was a talon black as ink, the light from inside caught the curve of it as it came to a needlelike point. The rest of his fingers were- he spread them and saw the thin skin stretched between delicate-looking bones that were longer than he could make his mind understand. His stomach roiled, and he looked away, down at his feet. His socks had been torn to ribbons. His feet were talons like an owl’s, each black claw as long as a knife.

Draco lifted his thumb, what used to be his thumb, and hooked it over the smooth hard thing on his face, the curve of it, familiar and sharp as every other point on his body. He opened his mouth, the beak of a thing on him, his stomach twisting inside him and coming up empty. He no longer had lips to spit the bile from his mouth. He no longer had the right tongue to taste it.

Like a lion that kills people, the veela had said.

A bitter wind went past, and Draco shivered. He felt it and raised his arms, spreading his hands. The wind filled the horrible wing-like things, and the feeling caught in his throat.

His mind numb, he carefully hooked his thumb on the top of the bannister and pulled a leg up, then another, wobbling as he stood on the thin line of stone. Draco spread his wings, twisting them as the wind caught them, feeling the faint lift with every rising arc of cold air. He pushed the air back, testing the feeling against his skin, the muscles in his chest, grown massive in order to lift his body, flexed and moved, feeling strange under his skin. Wings. He gripped the stone with his feet, feeling it scrape against his talons, as he lowered himself, the muscles in his legs tensing.

He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t have made himself think. He didn’t want to try. There was something certain in his mind, a guiding certainty. It was restless, and it wanted to leave this place.

Draco jumped.

He beat his wings at the height of his jump, every angle of his wings caused him to shift in the air, lurching and wobbling as he flew, gasping at the new and unfamiliar exertion. He alternated between gliding and flapping to gain height, feeling more confident as he went, learning how to shift his weight and his wings to turn. Until he felt confident enough to look around.

To look at the shadows of the towers and turrets, his own shadow chasing behind. The faint flickers of torchlight. The edges of the forest becoming more defined as he got closer. The snow swirling all around him. He flew without thinking, without effort, sinking entirely into the moment. He let himself feel the wind though it stung against his skin. He let himself feel the simple joy of flying. And the more bone-deep joy of being good at something, instinctively good. A talent he didn’t have to struggle after for months and years and still never succeed at.

He flew out away from the castle, following the shore of the lake, his reflection on the dark water nothing more than a pale shape. His muscles began to ache. Draco wheeled around, cutting a tight circle and headed back toward the school. The ache became a burn. Every downbeat of his wings got harder, and he drifted a little closer to the ground.

Draco felt the first prickle of fear. He wasn’t sure how much strength he had left, so he held his wings out, gliding down towards the ground, coming down too fast. Just as the ground was close enough to scare him, Draco beat his wings down as hard as he could, pulling his legs underneath him to try and land on his feet rather than his face. He slammed into the ground and pitched forward onto his chest, sliding across a wet layer of snow.

Draco dropped his cheek to the ground, panting great clouds of steam into the air. He could feel tremors running across his skin. He didn’t know how much of it was exhaustion and how much of it was cold. He pulled up one wing, digging his thumb claw into the snow and ground, trying to pull himself up. He almost managed to drag himself up onto his knees before his shaking wing gave out and he collapsed again.

The snow was falling faster. Heavier. In great white clumps that seemed to absorb all sound except a faint staticy hum as they fell.

Draco couldn’t know how to change back. He couldn’t remember how he had done it after Fleur left. What if he couldn’t? What if he was stuck like this…

Draco curled his arms up over his head, his wings covering his head. His eyes ached on the edge of tears.

He was a monster.

A monster a monster a monster-

He stiffened as a prickle of warning that someone was close went of up his spine. Draco pulled his wings back, a startled snarling hiss coming out of him as he scrambled to push himself up again before he even saw who was approaching.

With the crunch of boots through the snow came a deep and familiar voice, it’s tone surprisingly gentle, “Now now, calm yerself. I ain’t goin’ to hurt yeh.”

* * *

  
  


Hagrid knelt down beside Draco though he still loomed over him, “Can yeh stand?”

Draco shook his head.

“Right then. Firs’ off, let’s get yeh somewhere warm.” Hagrid helped Draco sit up, “Put yer fingers together an’ tuck your hands up. I’m goin’ to pick yeh up, alright?”

Draco silently did as he was told, pressing his wings up to his chest. At least he wouldn't freeze to death.

Hagrid picked Draco up as if he weighed nothing, pulling his heavy jacket around Draco blocking most of the chill. The fabric smelled earthy and was coarse and itchy against his skin.

“Saw yeh flyin’ up there. ‘Bout had a heart attack when yeh first jumped, but yeh got the hang o’ it right quick,” Hagrid said, “A right treat to see a veela flyin’. Rare thing that.”

Draco shuddered and carefully hooked the edge of Hagrid’s coat with his claw to pull it tighter to himself.

There was a creak as a door was pulled open and the warmth of a fire washed over them, “Hope my cabin’s alright, got rebuilt after the war, nice an’ neat,” Hagrid said, “An’ I figured yeh wouldn’t want ter be goin' back to the castle jus' yet.”

Draco wanted to agree, but the only sound that came out of him was a sad rusty croak that would have better suited a crow.

“Here, let’s get yeh settled by the fire,” Hagrid said, pulling a massive armchair closer to the fireplace with one hand before settling Draco back into it. A moment later, a blanket was dropped around Draco’s shoulders. “I’ll get some tea goin’.”

Draco watched Hagrid add a few more logs to the fire and filling a soot-stained copper kettle on a hook over the fire. Collecting two mugs, the smaller of which was as big as a soup bowl and putting them on the table.

“Yeh can change back; if yeh can o’course. I've heard it can be dangerous if yeh don’ have the strength fer it,” Hagrid said, patting his jacket’s many pockets until he found a rather battered tin of loose tea.

Draco made another sad croak, carefully pulling his legs up and wrapping his wings around his knees.

Hagrid was quiet for a long time, “Did seem ter me it was yer firs’ time flyin’. Might be it was yer firs’ time changin’ too?”

Draco nodded.

“Yeh flew on yer _own_? That far up?” Hagrid said in dismay, a scoop of tea leaves falling onto the floor as he stared at Draco.

Draco nodded dejectedly.

Hagrid’s bushy eyebrows rose up into his hair.

Draco ducked his head down behind his wings, pulling his legs tighter to his chest.

“Well, that’s… well, suppose it’s good everythin’ turned out alright…” Hagrid said slowly. He got a fresh scoop of tea leaves and dumped them into a fine mesh strainer that was standing in for a tea diffuser.

Draco could already feel the subtle thrum of magic under his skin. Part of him wished he would stay a monster because Draco was sure Hagrid’s kindness would dry up once he realised who he was helping.

“I’d heard veela had wings on their back, o’course that’d difficult fer actual flyin’. Got to have the muscles fer it,” Hagrid patted his chest, “wings on the back, well, the arms’d get in the way, unless yeh were flappin both at the same time…” he chuckled, “yeh could get around it with more magic, same as thestrals and dragons. Yer prolly using some anyhap, yer legs would unbalance yeh otherwise.”

Draco could feel his beak starting to disappear and squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see it. He felt faintly sick again and desperately wished he could just be back in his bed, all of this only a nightmare he could wake up from.

The floor creaked as Hagrid got up and moved around getting- there was the sound of bottles or some sort of glass before he came back to the fire and stopped in his tracks.

Draco pressed his cheek into his shoulder.

“That’s a surprise an’ a half, in’t it?” Hagrid said quietly, “Yeh always did have the colourin’ fer it. Must run in the family, eh?”

“Not officially,” Draco said hoarsely.

“Sounds abou’ right,” Hagrid said, filling the two cups with hot water, “Would’ve thought yer mum’d be here keepin’ an eye on yeh.”

“Father was banished. The terms of my probation say I can’t leave the uk. She made a choice,” Draco said quietly.

“You was goin’ to school-”

“I told her what was happening to me and she stayed,” Draco said.

“Did yeh ask her to come?” Hagrid asked.

“No,” Draco muttered.

“There yeh have it,” Hagrid said, “Can’t go decidin’ things fer other people.”

Draco disagreed, but he kept the thought to himself.

“While the tea’s brewin’ yeh mind if I take a look at yer wings and feet a smidge?” Hagrid asked, “I don’t mean to be to be presumptuous, but I’d be kickin’ myself if I didn’t ask.”

Draco shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and scooted forward in the chair, uncurling a wing and holding it out. In the firelight, the skin stretched between his fingers looked thin and pale as paper.

“Yer sure?” Hagrid asked.

“You’re probably the only one who would ever want to see them,” Draco said.

“That ain’t true,” Hagrid said, stepping closer, “How far can yeh stretch ‘er out?”

Draco obligingly stretching his fingers, the edge of his wing brushing the far corner of the table. He jerked away from the feeling, it was strangely disturbing to touch something with his fingertips that was halfway across the room.

Hagrid let out a low whistle, “Fingers prolly twice the length o’ yer arm… look fragile as anything, but I’d put money on them bein’ tough. Bird’s ‘n bats both have thin light bones, but they’re real dense, nothin’ can top ‘em. Add in some magic an it’d take some real work to cause any harm to yeh.”

Draco stared at his wing, shifting it absently. There was another panel of skin stretching from his pinky down to his hip, big enough to be a wing in its own right. It also ruined his shirt, tearing the seams down his sides, so he was only still wearing it by the collar and the bottom hem that wasn’t split.

“Them talons look wicked sharp…” Hagrid said.

Draco pulled his wing back in, looking down at his feet, his claws twitching and flexing almost instinctively at being mentioned. They looked even blacker than they had outside, they seemed to drink the firelight and leave a void of darkness in the shape of a claw, there were pale scales on his feet that began to scatter and fade above his ankle.

“Have yeh ever seen a hawk as she dives? Thing o’ beauty it is. Didja know it’s the impact that kills ‘em most o’ the time, ‘couse if it doesn’t the talons’ll finish the job,” Hagrid said.

“I know… They’re for killing,” Draco whispered, horror edging into his voice, “It’s all made for killing. I- I-I-”

“Yeh didn’t kill anything tonight when yeh were flyin’ around did yeh?” Hagrid said.

“No…but-”

“But nothin’,” Hagrid interrupted him, “Yer not an animal. Just a wee bit different…” he went back to the table, lifting out the tea leaves and adding spoon after spoon of sugar. He grabbed a bottle of cream, popping off the cap and pouring half the bottle in the smaller cup, “Yeh know what they say abou’ giants, don’t yeh? Them bein’ violent an’ stupid an’ good fer nothin’.”

Draco watched him with wide eyes.

“I ain’t none of those, an’ that ain’t luck. I have a temper, it were especially bad when I was young, an’ after my dad died, but I never hurt nobody. At least, nobody that didn’ deserve it. I was careful to keep my anger to myself and now I mostly don’t have any problems with it…” Hagrid paused, stirring the tea, “… ‘Never be ashamed’ my dad always said… There are those that’ll hate no matter what we do. So we have to live fer those who’re good enough to see us fer who we are.”

“Right, then,” Hagrid said, walking over with the cup of tea nestled in the palm of his hand like a coin, “Yeh’ll have to change yer hands back.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how,” Draco said, “It just… happens.”

“When’d this all start?” Hagrid asked.

“I-when school started… I might have had a fever before then-”

“When’d yeh firs’ change?” Hagrid asked, “as yeh are now.”

“…A month ago? But that was just my hands, and they didn’t turn into wings, they- they looked like my feet do,” Draco said.

“So yer fledging,” Hagrid said.

“I’m- I- What?” Draco said, blinking in confusion.

Hagrid nodded, “When a wee chick or hippogriff or thestral gets big ‘nough they start gettin’ restless, antsy like, and eventually give flyin’ a go. Can’t leave the nest without it. Course it doesn’t always work the firs’ time around, most times even, but with enough practise they get the hang of it.”

“…I’m fledging?” Draco repeated.

Hagrid nodded without hesitation, “No point beatin’ yerself up over it, yeh’ve hardly started. Put in a bit of practise an’ yeh’ll figure it out in no time.”

“…practise…”

“I know yeh can do it, jus’ focus yer mind on what yeh want ‘em to be. Take a few deep breaths, get a feel fer it,” Hagrid said.

Draco took a deep breath holding his wings in front of himself. He imagined them as his hands. He tried to call up that pulsing, thrumming feeling. He was about to give up when he felt it, between his shoulders racing down his arms, moving faster than before, his hands shrinking and pulling, turning back so quickly it left an ache in his joints. He carefully flexed his hands, feeling his fingertips press into his palms before reaching out to take the tea.

“Thank you,” Draco said politely, focusing to make sure he didn’t spill, the soup bowl of tea was a great deal heavier than he expected.

“Take ‘er easy, I’d wager yeh used a might bit more energy than yer used to,” Hagrid said.

Draco nodded and took a careful sip of tea, it had been brewed dark and strong, but any bitterness it might have had was beaten into submission by a copious amount of sugar and cream.

“I figured the cream an’ sugar would do yeh good, get yer strength back,” Hagrid said.

Draco took a few gulps of the tea, shivering in relief at the warmth and sweetness. Hagrid went back to the table to fix his own cup of tea. Draco settled back into the chairs cushions, the faint shaky light-headed feeling easing as he drank more of the tea.

Hagrid pulled a chair around from the kitchen table and sat down, blowing on his tea. He had added even more sugar to his than he had Draco’s but skipped the cream, preferring a tea brewed so dark it looked black as coffee, “Yeh’ve been quiet. Somethin’ on yer mind?”

Draco nodded, looking at his half-empty cup rather than Hagrid, “I wanted to- I wanted to say I’m sorry for the things I did in school.”

Hagrid nodded thoughtfully to himself, “…that’s good of yeh, I know it weren’t an easy thing fer yeh to say.”

“It’s something I want to be better at,” Draco said quietly.

“Well, I certain yeh’ll manage anythin’ yeh put yer mind to. Yer not one ter budge on an idea, that’s fer certain. Very persistent, yeh are,” Hagrid said.

Draco looked up, smiling hesitantly.

“I’m glad to see yeh managed to turn yerself into a decent sort,” Hagrid said, “I’ve been workin’ here more’n fifty years and I’ve seen lots of little shites come through over the years, never could tell who’d manage to pull their head out of their arse.”

Draco felt a flush of embarrassment heat his face, “…Sorry.”

“Yeh said that already,” Hagrid joked.

Draco picked his cup, taking a drink to hide his face.

There was a scratch at the door, followed a moment later by a whine.

Hagrid got to his feet, “That’ll be Fang.” He pulled open the door and ushered in the massive boar-hound who took two steps inside and had to stop to shake himself all over, sending half-melted snow and a few strings of drool flying. “Come on, come on,” Hagrid groused, nudging the dog to come inside far enough for him to close the door.

Fang barked excitedly, wagging his tail and trotting over towards Draco’s chair, only to freeze halfway and begin to back away with a whimper.

“Yer, alright Fang,” Hagrid said, patting the dog in a vaguely reassuring way, “He’s always been a coward. He can prolly tell yeh’re a bit diffrent. He’ll get used to yeh in time.”

Draco stared at the dog, eliciting another whimper. He took a deep breath and tried to pull up that prickly magic feeling and focus it into calm-calm-calm-calming- Draco shivered, the prickle creeping up his back and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end- and Fang blinked, tilted his head to the side and then hesitantly wagged his tail. He walked over, propping his head on the edge of the armchair by Draco’s leg, drool soaking into the cushion as he thumped his tail against the floor.

“Well, ain’t that somthin,” Hagrid said blinking. He slowly went back to his own chair, “a sort of prickly tickly feelin’.”

“You can actually feel it?” Draco asked.

“A bit. Got thicker skin than most,” Hagrid said. He rolled his shoulders and leaned back, his chair creaking alarmingly, “Nice an’ relaxin’ feeling, though.”

“I’m pretty sure I did that on purpose… maybe?” Draco said, thinking back, “It just seemed to happen before, and Potter wouldn’t get angry wi- oh. Except for tonight… is that part of fledging too?”

“What about Harry?” Hagrid said with a frown, his tone hardening instantly, “Yeh haven’t been fightin’ with him again, have yeh?”

Draco quickly shook his head.

“Yeh, better not. Harry’s a good one, one of the best,” Hagrid said. He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, “Best wizard livin’. A proper hero.”

“…I don’t think Potter would agree with you,” Draco said.

“He’s jus’ modest,” Hagrid said, somewhat mollified.

Draco was fairly certain Potter was just stupid.

“Before I forget, who is it that’s lookin’ after yeh? The Headmistress? One of the other professors?” Hagrid asked, taking a sip of tea and wincing, blowing on the top of his tea.

Draco sighed, “ It’s Potter.”

Hagrid blew too hard, sending hot tea over the edge of his cup and onto his hand. He swore and quickly set the cup back on the table, shaking out his hand, “ _Harry_ is-”

“looking after me,” Draco said.

Hagrid stared at him as if trying to figure out a tricky puzzle, “He’s a student…”

Draco nodded.

“An’ not a healer type.”

Draco shrugged.

“An’ he’s not a friend of yers-?”

“I never said he was good at it,” Draco muttered. He reluctantly explained, “I need someone around who I trust, or I have trouble sleeping and lose my appetite…” he tried to think of in animal terms, “it’s… it’s like I need a flock? I need someone to watch my back because I get very weak when I go through a fever.”

“An’ that’s Harry,” Hagrid said.

“…yes,” Draco said.

“An’ yer gettin’ along alright?” Hagrid asked.

“We were,” Draco said, “Potter said he wanted to be friends but when he first started…watching my back, I was using that calming feeling all the time. Earlier today I wasn’t, and we ended up arguing… what if we can’t even get along unless I’m- I’m influencing him.”

“Well…” Hagrid said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, “…I suppose, if Harry sees something in yeh worth bein’ friends with, then... An’ _you_ want ter be friends with Harry?”

“Always,” Draco said without thinking and quickly looked away in embarrassment, his face flushing hot.

Hagrid chuckled, “Yer both right stubborn, so I imagine it’ll work itself out.”

Draco finished off his tea and set the cup aside so he could pull the blanket back around his shoulders. Fang whined softly, his tail giving a few hopeful thumps. Draco hesitantly reached out and scratched the top of his head, earning himself a more enthusiastic tail wag.

“If yeh get right behind his ears, he loves that,” Hagrid said.

Draco reached back behind Fang’s ear, and the big dog began thumping his leg, his whole body curling towards Draco’s hand until he fell off the chair. He spent a few second scratching behind his own ear before putting his head back on the edge of the chair and whining for more attention.

Draco grinned and obliged, scratching both Fang’s ears at the same time so he wouldn't fall over.

“I was thinkin’, if yeh want to practise flyin’ or changin’ again, I’d be glad to keep an eye on yeh,” Hagrid said.

“Really?” Draco said.

Hagrid nodded, “One condition, no jumpin’ off towers.”

Draco laughed.

“I mean it,” Hagrid said.

Draco looked up from Fang, “Until I have more experience?”

Hagrid shook his head, “Until yeh graduate. Student’s shouldn’ be jumpin’ off roofs. Yeh’d get in trouble fer doin’ it with a broom, same with wings. I catch yeh at it again, I supposed I’d have ter take points away, or give yeh detention.”

“Fine, I won’t jump off the school again,” Draco said.

“Good,” Hagrid nodded, “An’ keep a distance from the forest. Yer safe on the grounds with the wards an all, but there’s somethin’ dangerous in the woods.”

“The forest is always dangerous,” Draco said.

“Not the normal kind of dangerous. I lost two thestrals, one got torn up somethin’ awful, the other I had ta put down,” Hagrid said.

Draco thought back to that day in the tower when he found Potter’s plaster cast, and he had lied to Draco about what it was. “A werewolf,” he guessed.

“Harry told yeh then?” Hagrid said.

“…I saw the plaster cast he made of some werewolf tracks,” Draco said, carefully side-stepping the question, “I could tell because the paw pad is bigger and square-shaped, more like a human palm.” he curled his fingers up and looked at his palm, “…Greyback and his pack would leave tracks all around the manor. I got good at identifying them.” He looked up at Hagrid, “You’re sure the thestrals were attacked by a werewolf?”

“I weren’t at first, but she was cut up on her leg an’ it wouldn’t heal. Harry and Hermione said ter try silver and dittany an’ that healed ‘er right up, there ain’t much else it could be with that,” Hagrid said.

“If the wound healed, why did you have to put her down?” Draco asked.

Hagrid’s eyes went shiny with tears, “She was too weak, I suppose. Couldn’t stand, wouldn’t eat or drink nothin’. She was jus’ wastin’ away, it woulda been cruel if I hadna-” he sniffed hugely and shook his head.

“I won’t go anywhere near the forest,” Draco promised him.

Hagrid pulled out a handkerchief out of a random pocket and blew his nose with a honk, before stuffing it back in a different pocket. “That’s alright then,” he said roughly and cleared his throat. He held out his hand, “…Yeh finished yer tea?”

Draco nodded and handed the cup back. He looked at Fang, fixedly staring at the dog’s sad droopy eyes as he pet him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to speak, “…thank you for the tea, and- and-” he blinked back tears, “thank you for being kind.”

Hagrid set the cup on the table, “It weren’t no problem at all.”

Draco ducked his head, wiping his eyes as Hagrid turned back.

There was a rattle, and Draco looked up as an old biscuit tin was held out to him filled with lumpy looking treacle toffee that smelled sweetly of caramel, “Would yeh like a toffee?” Hagrid asked.

Draco’s hand hovered over the tin until he spotted a small coin-sized piece and plucked it out.

“Thank you,” Draco said, his voice sounding slightly rough. The toffee was tacky, sticking to his fingers as he put in his mouth. He knew better than to chew it, his father had often introduced him to old wizards who offered him sticky toffee that stuck his teeth together for the next twenty minutes. In retrospect, that was likely the point. He let the candy sit on his tongue until it softened and then pressed it to the roof of his mouth where it stuck and could melt slowly.

Hagrid went back into the small corner kitchen to put the tin back where it obviously hadn’t come from and fussed around while Draco wiped his eyes again and blinked them dry.

Hagrid came back to the fireplace, turning his chair more towards the flames before sitting back down, “Thing is…” he said slowly, “…even when things are seeming their worst, they always gets better in time.”

Draco gave a faint nod.

“As long as yeh got someone supporting yeh, things can only improve, like Dumbledore was fer me, great man Dumbledore,” Hagrid said, “When my dad died in second year, I thought, can’t get no worse than this. Dumbledore helped me keep goin’ to school, got me my books when I couldn’t afford ‘em myself. A’course next year I was kicked out on account of Riddle framin’ me and Agarog fer things we didn’ do. Dumbledore helped me out then too, got me the groundskeeper job, forever grateful for him doin’ that.”

“In third-year? You were _thirteen_ ,” Draco said in dismay.

“The world was different back then… nineteen forty-three, the muggles were in their second big war, an’ Grindlewald was running around-”

“But you were a just kid,” Draco said.

“Lotsa kids were workin’ then, an I didn’t look it much, I was already near my full height, had a time of it convincing people I wasn’t already grown up,” Hagrid said.

“I don’t care, it isn’t fair,” Draco said.

Hagrid grinned, “Now yer sounding like yerself.”

Draco frowned at him.

“Asides, you were only sixteen yerself when yeh got dragged into things,” Hagrid said.

“That’s still three more years,” Draco said.

Hagrid combed his hand through his beard with a smile, “Right right, yer right o’course. …I’m gettin’ old, an’ years don’ seem to matter as much as they used to. I ferget how much they tend to mean when yeh’ve only got a handful of ‘em under yer belt. Everything seems a lot more important when yer young.”

Draco shook his head in confusion, “I don’t-”

“Yeh’ll understand in time,” Hagrid said, “Nice of yeh to care, young me’d have appreciated that.”

Draco felt a shiver down his spine and looked at the door, then back down at his taloned feet. He closed his eyes desperately imagining his feet back to normal, pulling the blanket over his legs in case he couldn’t turn back in time.

“Somthin-?”

“Potter’s coming,” Draco said as he felt his magic begin to thrum under his skin

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a week late, holidays took some time, learning to write Hagrid took some other time and I lost a week in the mash♡thank you so much for reading♡♡


	11. Chapter 11

Harry jumped the last three steps outside the main doors, his feet skidding on the snow. He recovered on sheer inertia, running even faster as he headed towards the lights shining from the windows of Hagrid cabin. He slowed down when he got close, catching himself on the door with a thud, his breath coming out in gasps that burned his throat.

Harry took a deep breath and paused, then looked down, something niggling at his mind… there was only a single set of Hagrid’s massive footprints in the fresh snow leading to the door. He was sure he saw Malfoy’s name on the map. The panic Harry had been successfully ignoring surged back into his throat as he pounded his fist on the door.

“Hagrid!” Harry called, “Are you there? Is-”

The door opened, and Hagrid looked at him in surprise, “Well, I’ll be…”

“Is Malfoy here?” Harry asked.

Hagrid took a step back, gesturing for Harry to come in, calling behind him, “Yer were right! It’s Harry-”

Harry stepped inside, “Malfoy-” The words died in his throat. Malfoy was sitting in the armchair by the fire; he looked utterly exhausted, his shirt was nearly torn off him, hanging on his shoulders and leaving his arms bare, a blanket pulled over his legs.

Harry dodged by Hagrid, nearly vaulting over Fang who startled and bolted behind the chair, “Are you alright? Are you- Should I-?” he held his hands out helplessly, almost, but not quite touching Malfoy, whose eyes went wide.

“I’m fine-”

“-I could get Hermione,” Harry said, stumbling over his words, “Or I could- I could take you to Pomfrey-!”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Malfoy said firmly, he grabbed one of Harry’s wrists and squeezed it, “I’m just tired.”

“But-” Harry said weakly, gesturing to all of Draco with his other hand.

Malfoy looked down at himself and what was left of his shirt, “Oh, I… I needed to stretch my wings.”

Hagrid laughed, “Clever,” closing the door and coming over, sitting down on the wooden chair on the other side of the fireplace.

Malfoy beamed, utterly delighted that Hagrid had laughed at his joke. Harry didn’t see how it was funny.

“What?” Harry said wobbling on his feet, “But when did you leave the tower?”

Malfoy gave him a funny look, glancing away nervously as he let go of Harry’s arm, “I meant it literally… I have wings. I flew.”

“From the _tower_?” Harry said faintly, touching the shadow of warmth left on his skin where Malfoy’s hand had been.

“It’s not like I _wanted_ to,” Malfoy said.

“How can you not want to-! If you didn’t want to jump off the tower, you could just- just not!” Harry said.

Malfoy frowned down at his hands, “I’ve been feeling more and more restless that last two days, which you would know if you had even _talked_ to me, and it…overwhelmed me.”

“Oh.” Harry said. All the strength brought by panic and adrenaline drained out of him like an untied balloon as guilt took its place.

Because if Harry had talked with Malfoy instead of panicking about his feelings and avoiding him, he would have known something was happening. Because if he had stayed with Malfoy instead of yelling at him, and running off to panic about his feelings, Malfoy might not have jumped off the roof.

“I found ‘im on me way back from the stables, after the flyin’ wore him out,” Hagrid said, “We had a talk abou’ that. He’s not to be flyin’ around without someone watchin’ after him.”

Harry felt a weight lodge itself in his chest.

“If yer goin’ to be looking after Malfoy here- Would yeh rather I called yeh Draco?”

“Draco’s fine,” Malfoy said, “Would you prefer Hagrid or Professor?”

Hagrid grinned, “Professor’s always got a nice ring to it, but I get enough o’ that in my classes. Hagrid’s what my friends call me, and I’d say we’ve a good start there.”

Harry looked from Hagrid to Malfoy, both of them smiling, Malfoy’s smile was more careful and tentative but so hopeful it left Harry completely baffled. He followed Malfoy’s gaze, but he was still looking at Hagrid, without even a hint of malice or mockery. Harry had to look between them again, but nothing had changed, and he had missed most of whatever Hagrid had been saying.

“-so’s I expect yeh to take better care of Draco from now on,” Hagrid said.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded numbly, “…we should go.”

Malfoy didn’t move, he looked from Harry to Hagrid as if trying to decide something.

“It’ll be curfew soon,” Harry added, the weight in his chest growing heavier.

“I think… I’ll be fine here,” Malfoy said carefully, “If it’s not too much trouble, I could sleep in the chair, and then you could bring me some clothes in the morning.”

“No trouble, but that chair ain’t the most comfortable thing ter be sleepin’ in,” Hagrid said.

“Sleep here.” Harry repeated flatly.

Malfoy met his gaze, “Yes. I think I could.”

“You _trust_ Hagrid,” Harry said.

“So do you,” Malfoy said.

“But _you_ trust Hagrid after everything-”

“He saved me. He’s nice to me-” Malfoy said.

“I’m nice to you,” Harry said.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, “I spent my entire life listening to my father tell me to stop complaining, to grow up, to get over it, and shockingly enough that doesn’t actually help. Maybe being kind doesn’t help, maybe I have to do it myself either way, but at least kindness doesn’t hurt.”

Whatever words Harry might have said next dried up in his throat.

Hagrid frowned and offered, “I could have the headmistress put up a bed here, I haven’t a lot of room, but I budge up if yeh need.”

“That’s very kind, but I don’t want to get in your way,” Malfoy said.

“Yeh’d be fine. This is a difficult time fer yeh, so whatever yeh need to work through it safely I’d be happy to help,” Hagrid said.

Malfoy nodded, “Thank-”

“Wait wait- you’d move- but I don’t want- You _can’t_ ,” Harry said frantically.

“I can,” Malfoy said quietly.

“Please,” Harry said.

Malfoy stared at him flatly.

“Can we talk first, can we just talk?” Harry said.

Malfoy pulled the blanket off his lap, “You’ll have to carry me.”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s bare feet, “Why-”

“Pardon me for not remembering to wear shoes before jumping off a tower,” Draco said sarcastically then sighed, “I can stay here tonight and-”

“I’ll carry you,” Harry said before Malfoy changed his mind.

Malfoy rolled his eyes with a soft, “idiot.”

“Yer sure?” Hagrid asked, nodding to both of them, “I could take yeh up to the castle if yeh like.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said.

“I suppose so, for now at least,” Draco said, grabbing the armrest and sliding himself off the chair.

“Malfoy hardly weighs anything anyway,” Harry said.

“I’ll be here if yeh change yer mind or want to test out your wings,” Hagrid said.

“Here,” Harry shrugged off his robe and held it out.

Malfoy pulled Harry’s robe on and tied the front together, “Thank you, Hagrid. For… everything tonight.”

“I were a real pleasure gettin’ to know you proper,” Hagrid said.

Malfoy nodded in agreement.

Hagrid hesitated and then wrapped Malfoy up in a hug that elicited a squeak of surprise or alarm or a mixture of both. Considering how tight Hagrid’s hugs were, the noise might have just been squeezed out of him.

Harry caught Malfoy’s arm as Hagrid let him go, steadying him.

Malfoy swayed a little as he caught his breath.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked.

Malfoy looked at Harry like he had lost his mind.

“What?”

“You haven’t cast a lightening charm,” Malfoy said.

Harry hesitated.

“I’m not _that_ light-”

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry said.

“-and it’s up a hill-”

“ _Yes_. I’m-”

“- _and_ it’s snowing,” Malfoy finished

“I’m going!” Harry said, taking his wand out of his back pocket and casting a lightening charm over Malfoy with probably more power than it really called for. Not that Malfoy seemed to mind,.

Malfoy rocked on his heels and then hopped up into the air, seeming to hang for a second on the top of his jump. He tried to hide his grin as he landed.

“Now are you ready?” Harry asked.

“Warming charm,” Malfoy said.

Harry sighed, lifting his wand.

“I don’t want cold feet,” Malfoy said.

“I’m doing it,” Harry said irritably as he wrapped a warming charm around the two of them, “Now can we go?”

He steadfastly ignored Hagrid watching them with an amused little smile and went to the door.

Malfoy followed a few steps behind but stayed just out of reach when Harry held out his hands expectantly.

“Piggyback,” Malfoy said.

Harry dropped his hands.

“I want to go piggyback,” Malfoy said.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Harry said flatly.

Malfoy gave him a saccharine-sweet little smile.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

Malfoy turned back towards the fireplace, “There’s a chair by the fire that looks very warm and comfortable…”

“Fine,” Harry said, turning around and dropping down onto a knee, “but I’ve never done this before, so it’s not my fault if I drop you.”

Harry felt Malfoy’s fingertips grazing across his back as he gathered Harry’s hair and moving it in front of his shoulder. He tried not to shiver as he felt Malfoy’s back press against his, his arms ringing loosely around his shoulders. He could feel Malfoy’s heart beating, nervous fast.

“You have to grab my legs,” Malfoy said, his breath tickling Harry’s ear.

A shudder ran through Harry’s entire body. Almost mechanically, he did as Malfoy said, and stood up so fast he nearly lost his balance, Malfoy’s grip on his shoulders tightening.

“Careful there,” Hagrid said, sounding worried.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it. We’re fine,” Harry said hurriedly.

Hagrid was already coming over, and Harry was sure he was going to insist on taking Malfoy up to Hogwarts himself, but he just opened the door for them. Harry thought he heard him mutter under his breath, ‘right stubborn.’

“Thanks,” Harry said, stepping outside.

“Goodbye, Hagrid!” Malfoy said, shifting his grip, one arm around Harry’s chest so he could wave with the other.

“Night, you two. Take care of yerselves,” Hagrid called.

“Bye,” Harry said with only the cursory look back before starting up the hill.

The snow was still falling in larger fluffy clumps that stuck to the bottoms of Harry’s trainers.

Malfoy wrapped his other arm around Harry’s chest, “I know you’re angry with me, but you don’t have to take it out on Hagrid. He’s a friend of yours as well.”

“I didn’t-” Harry hesitated and sighed, “I need to apologise later.”

“Perhaps.”

Harry watched his feet as he walked, “And I’m not angry at you…. I’m mostly angry at myself.”

“…You never struck me as someone who lashes out at other people,” Malfoy said.

“I’m not,” Harry said, “I mean, I wasn’t…but after Cedric died and then…Sirius…” He hesitated, snow piling up on the end of his shoe which he absent-mindedly kicked off.

“I’m listening,” Malfoy said softly.

Harry smiled faintly, remembering Malfoy earnestly saying that he was a good listener during his last fever.

“Hermione says it because of the war, that everyone’s struggling,” Harry said.

“Well, if Granger said it must be true,” Malfoy said.

Harry shot a suspicious look over his shoulder.

“I’m not being mean,” Malfoy said, “Granger’s scarily intelligent. It’s almost funny that I used to think I could beat her in score.”

“You always did better at Potions,” Harry said.

“That’s because Professor Snape would tutor any Slytherin after classes before dinner. I was usually the only one to actually go,” Malfoy said.

“Probably because Snape was a prick,” Harry said, “Even if he was sort of a hero.”

“I think the only reason he wasn’t mean to me was because of my father,” Malfoy said. He sighed and rested head on Harry’s shoulder, “…Just like everyone else. Anyone who wasn’t afraid of my father hated him, and hated me as well.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I hated you because you were a pain in the ass all on your own,” Harry said.

Malfoy laughed faintly, “Thank you, I worked very hard at it.”

Harry let out a surprised laugh and nearly slipped. He had to stop walking for a second to collect himself. “Why work so hard at it?” he said a little breathlessly, “That’s what I never got. It never seemed worth it to me.”

“Because…” Malfoy said thoughtfully, his voice a soft murmur right by Harry’s ear, “…because no matter how hard I practised, I could never fly as well as you did without trying. Just like no matter how hard I studied, I could never be smarter than Granger. And no matter how much I flattered or threatened, I would never have friends like Weasley… or family. Can you imagine having siblings? I used to think about it all the time.”

“I don’t know, from what I’ve seen they mostly try to annoy one another,” Harry said, starting back up the hill.

“Do you remember the second trial during the tri-wizard cup-?”

“I was there, just a bit,” Harry said sarcastically.

“But do you remember when you brought Weasley back and his brother Percy, that utter stick in the mud, ran over in such a panic? They’re always there for one another in the end, no matter what,” Malfoy said.

The castle was close enough that the lights were casting a yellow glow across the snow.

Harry nodded, “Yeah… They’re great. Really great.”

He could feel Malfoy tracing his hand over the front of his jumper, “Molly Weasley made this for you?”

“Made one for me every christmas since I met Ron,” Harry said.

“I used to think- never mind the stupid things I used to think,” Malfoy said, “Now I think if someone hand-made something for me like that, I would treasure it forever.”

Harry shivered.

“In the end, I suppose it came down to when you rejected me over Weasley on the train…” Malfoy said, going back to Harry’s earlier question, “It was the better choice. I thought, back then, that value came from things outside myself, my name, wealth, clothing, influence… and some do value those things, but I think the true value of a person is in what they do.”

Harry went up the stone steps leading into the castle. “That’s, um… interesting… I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it.”

“I have thought about it far too much. I didn’t know who I was after the war…I don’t- I still don’t. Especially now.” Malfoy said.

Harry pulled open one of the doors wide to fit them both and stepped inside.

Malfoy let go of his shoulders, leaning back, and Harry took the hint to let him down.

“How can you not know who you are? You’re… you.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Malfoy said, “You’ve always been certain of yourself.”

“I guess. I had to be. I never really had money and influence and all that,” Harry said.

Malfoy laughed, “ _Liar_. You have all the same things I did. You just don’t care about them. You only care about other people, Harry Potter, that’s what makes you remarkable.”

Harry blinked, his throat feeling unexpectedly tight. He didn’t trust his words, so he shook his head.

“Also a bit stupid,” Malfoy said, turning on his heel and started walking down the hallway, “You ought to learn to take a compliment, Potter.”

Harry realised he was being left behind and ran to catch up, “Where are you going? The tower’s over-”

“Kitchens,” Malfoy said, his bare feet making almost no sound on the stone floors.

“The kitchens,” Harry said flatly.

“Yes. I’m hungry. Ravenous. I might very well die if I don’t eat soon,” Malfoy said, putting his hand to his chest with a level of drama to match his words and drawling tone.

Harry laughed, “Yeah, alright, wouldn’t want you to waste away.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Harry sat on one of the kitchen’s small stools, a crowd of house elves around him, all watching Malfoy with a mixture of awe and horror as he ate enough food for three people with apparent relish.

“So are you always going to eat this much now?” Harry asked.

Malfoy glared at him affronted, his pudding slipping off his spoon and falling back into the dish, “I don’t know? How am I supposed to know that?”

“Well, you are the one eating it,” Harry said.

“I’m a growing boy,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry laughed.

Malfoy glare took on an edge of pouting, “McGonagall said it not me. And it’s true. I won’t know what ‘normal’ is until I’m done…” he looked down at himself, “changing.”

“It’s just funny,” Harry said, “you eat so much, but you’re still scrawny as ever.”

“Ha. Ha.” Malfoy said flatly.

A wide-eyed house elf put another plate onto the table, sliding it in front of Malfoy as another elf took his empty bowl away.

“I think I’m..” Malfoy started.

It was a slice of chocolate cake with a rich fudgy chocolate frosting.

Malfoy picked up a fork almost helplessly, “…Or perhaps I’m not done.”

“Looks good,” Harry said.

“Another fork,” Malfoy ordered.

“I-”

Malfoy slid the plate across the table.

The house elves looked from Harry to Malfoy like they were watching a particularity engrossing tennis match.

“-don’t- It’s fine-”

Malfoy took the fork from the elf that ran over and pushed it into Harry’s hand.

“You- you can have it,” Harry said uncertainly.

“I can’t possibly finish it,” Malfoy said impatiently.

“Then- don’t eat it?”

“but _look at it_ ,” Malfoy said, pointing at the cake, “I have to _at least_ taste it, but to taste and then not finish it would be a crime akin against all enchantment. Therefore, I will taste it, and then you will finish it. And that is the solution to the problem.”

The house elves turned to look at Harry.

“Solution to- It’s really not that big of a deal,” Harry said.

“Then eat the cake,” Draco said.

Harry raised his fork and hesitated, “You said you were going to have a bite.”

Malfoy took a bite of cake from the corner, closing his eyes and practically melting in on himself at he chewed.

Harry took a very small bit of cake, then a bigger bite, then the cake was gone, and the house elves had happily replaced it with another piece of cake which Harry ended up eating as well. “That was… really good cake.”

Malfoy nodded with a pleased little smile.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was nearing midnight when they left the kitchens. The portraits were still, their occupants sleeping comfortably in their frames. Every window they passed poured snow bright light into the castle, contrasting strangely with the darkness of the rest, the torches and candles dampened for the night.

Malfoy was strangely quiet as they walked side by side, a pensive expression on his face. Harry found himself glancing over more often than he was watching where they were going. Harry was certain Malfoy was feeling better, his skin wasn’t as pale as it had been, but there had to be something on his mind.

Harry found himself wishing Malfoy had kept talking, it had been easy to slip into conversation, but the idea of breaking the silence around them felt insurmountable, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

Malfoy took the lead up the tower, practically running up the last few steps to get to the fireplace. He awkwardly grabbed a log and dropping it in the middle of the coals with a puff of ash, watching it until fire began licking up the bark, scuffing his feet on the rug and rubbing his hands together.

Harry closed the hatch behind them, “If your feet were cold ,you should have said something. I would have cast another warming charm.”

Malfoy looked at him and then sighed, “I was waiting.”

“For what?” Harry asked.

Malfoy held out his hands to the fire, “You said you wanted to talk. I already talked, quite a bit. I wanted to- to try and… help you understand me better. I was waiting for you to say… something.” his voice dropped to a whisper, “anything really.”

Harry tried to swallow down the lump in his throat without much success, “You asked what I meant when I said, ‘because I want to’.”

Malfoy nodded, he had the strangest expression on his face; sad, apprehensive and hopeful all at once.

Harry took a deep breath, “Well, it’s like… my whole life people have decided what I was going to do. The Dursleys- the people that raised me, they treated me more like a servant than a kid,” he rephrased it in a way Malfoy might understand better, “more like a house elf really.”

Malfoy frowned but waited for Harry to finish, which he was thankful for. If he stopped now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say it again.

“And then I found out about the wizarding world, and it was wonderful,” Harry said, the awe he felt at eleven creeping into his voice, “I felt like I’d finally found a home. But… even here there was a plan for me, a fucking prophecy, and if I wanted to protect this world that I _loved_ , I had to play my part.”

Harry took his glasses off for a second so he could rub his face on the sleeve of his jumper, “Now I- Now no one can orchestrate my life for me. I still want to make this world a better place; however I can, and help people. And I get to decide that, no one else. That’s important to me.”

Malfoy hesitated and asked, “If you join the aurors, won’t they tell you what to do?”

Harry shrugged, “I worked with them this summer. I liked the work. And I was good at it. … I can always quit and find something else.”

“So… you helped me because you wanted to help? That’s it? It’s no different than you trying to stop bullying around the school?” Malfoy asked. Harry sensed he was prodding at the edge of Harry’s explanation, looking for all the worst possible meanings.

“It’s- It’s not that simple. I mean, things usually aren’t most of the time,” Harry said.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest, “Tell me? It’s- I really want to understand.”

Harry pulled his hand through his hair, tugging it through the tangles, “Okay… At first I just wanted to help, so there’s that. And it’s a little bit that I wanted to make for sixth year, when I stalked you instead of trying to help.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” Malfoy said.

Harry shook his head, “but things might have turned out better if I at least tried. And-,” he sighed, “and mostly it was selfish.”

Malfoy blinked.

“Being around you, and that calming feeling you make, your weird not-allure, it felt so nice. I feel calmer and don’t have nightmares and…don’t… get angry-?” Harry’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Malfoy in confusion, “It’s gone?”

“It’s not something I do unconsciously now,” Malfoy said, “I’ve managed to use it once on purpose since then.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

Malfoy looked back at the fire, “So it was every reason in the end…..”

“I…I haven’t really said that out loud before, so I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone,” Harry said.

“I won’t,” Malfoy said, “I swear I won’t.”

Harry smiled hesitantly, “Alright.”

Malfoy looked down at his hands, and Harry found himself holding his breath because he was pretty sure Malfoy only looked away when he was going to say something important, “…I’m not going to be your personal mind-healer.”

“Of course, I would never-”

Malfoy nodded,frowning down at his hands, “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

“Are your fevers finished?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head uncertainly, “I don’t think so. The veela said the last one would be different and they’ve all been the same so far.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said.

Malfoy nodded, that same complicated expression from before was back on his face.

“Is there- did I say something wrong?” Harry asked.

Malfoy quickly shook his head and gave Harry a rueful smile, “I was just thinking that I have a terrible tendency to be too greedy.”

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Malfoy slipped off Harry’s robe and handed it back to him, “Here. Thank you for lending it to me.”

“Half expected you to keep it,” Harry said.

“What in the world would I want with your school robes?” Malfoy said. “Although they did seem a lot softer than mine.”

“I’ve just been using the same robes from sixth year, they still fit anyway,” Harry said, folding the robe up into a messy square.

“They’re a little short,” Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, “It’s just school robes. You probably get new ones every year.”

Malfoy nodded, “I had to replace everything anyway.”

“Everything?”

“The Manor is still under auror jurisdiction. I was lucky they didn’t take the vault keys so I could at least buy what I needed,” Malfoy said.

“They wouldn’t even let you get your personal things? Your books and clothes?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head.

Harry frowned furiously, “That’s just fucking stupid.”

“Petty was the word that came to my mind,” Malfoy said with a tired shrug. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to shiver, “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

Harry looked at Malfoy torn shirt, the sleeves were utterly ruined, “Can your shirt be repaired?”

“No,” Malfoy said, looking down at himself, “Any repair charm I could use would probably make more of a mess than fix anything. I’m just going to vanish it, I think.”

Harry set his robe aside, impulsively pulling his jumper over his head and holding it out, “You’ll be short a shirt, you can borrow this, until you can get your own clothes back.”

Malfoy took the jumper very carefully, like it was something terribly precious, as his face took on a pink flush, “Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

“Uh, right. And good night?” Harry said.

Malfoy’s flush deepened and he hurried up the stairs, managing to say a flustered ‘night’ over his shoulder.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco got ready for bed, putting on Potter’s t-shirt and silk sleep pants. He folded Potter’s jumper and put it beside his pillow, even though he knew there was a risk Potter would see, he was starting not to care. Mostly because predicting Potter’s reactions seemed impossible.

Potter had confirmed all of Draco’s worst fears, that is was pity and guilt and his stupid hero complex, but then he refused to leave, and gave Draco his jumper on top of that. He had teased Draco about keeping his robe but still hadn’t taken his t-shirt back. Every time Draco thought he knew what Potter was thinking, he did something that made Draco question it all over again.

Potter had said he wanted to be friends. Perhaps that was it. He truly pitied Potter’s friends if Potter was always this confusing. He pitied himself for being jealous of them anyway.

Draco pulled his comforter up to his chin, turning on his side so he could see Potter’s jumper and leaving the lumos on beside his bed.

In a few weeks, Draco would have what he suspected was his last fever and there would be no reason for either of them to stay in this tower. Then Draco would see if Potter really wanted to be his friend, when every other person he saw hated him and the rest did their best to pretend he didn’t exist.

* * *

  
  


“Malfoy?”

Draco frowned, grumbling as he tried to pretend he was still asleep.

“Malfoy?” Potter asked again, amused, “Your breakfast is downstairs. I’m gonna go, but I wanted to let you know I’ll be back as soon as classes are out.”

“Go away,” Draco muttered, shoving his face into his pillow.

“Good morning to you too,” Potter said. “See you later, alright?”

Draco made a noise at him. He didn’t move until Potter had closed the hatch behind him and was headed down the tower. When he finally pried his eyes open, he found, to his horror, that he was clutching Potter’s jumper to his chest like a security blanket.

He groaned even louder and pulled his blankets over his head to better languish in his complete and utter embarrassment.

* * *

  
  


Draco ignored his notes and classwork after he finished his late breakfast, searching through the stacks of books he had somehow accumulated in his room until he found the one with the worn red cover. There was no title stamped on the cover or spine, the title page inside simple said ‘Veela’. He pushed his pillow up and sat on his bed, opening to the first page and started reading.

  
  


“Malfoy?” Potter called, a moment later coming up the stairs, “You’re still in bed?”

“Yes,” Draco said, not bother to look up.

“Did you get out of bed at all today?” Potter asked.

“For food,” Draco said.

“Do you have a fever? It’s too early for a bad one, right? But sometimes you get smaller ones-”

“No,” Draco marked his place with his finger and looked up, “I was just reading the book the veela left.”

“She has a name,” Potter said.

Draco shrugged.

“It’s…” Potter frowned, “It started with an M.”

“You don’t know it either,” Draco said, “acting all high and mighty.”

“I used to know, which is more than you can say,” Potter said, dropping his bag on the floor and collapsing back into the chair beside the bed.

“I have no interest in the knowing the name of an enemy,” Draco said.

Potter raised an eyebrow.

Draco sighed, “It’s like… it’s… have you ever seen two cats spot one another and they both puff and arch their back and make horrible noises at one another?”

“Yes?” Harry said in confusion.

“Well, it feels like that looks,” Draco said, knowing that didn’t quite make sense, but there weren’t words for the messy flood of feelings that had crashed over him when he met the veelas.

“Right…” Potter said slowly, “erm, learned anything interesting?”

“I think I’m a throwback,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter said.

“A throwback,” Draco repeated flatly.

Potter sighed, “Care to explain that in a way I can understand?”

“I’m not sure small enough words exist for such a task,” Draco said.

“Hilarious you are, bloody clever work there. They ought to give you an award for such a pithy jab,” Potter said with a slow sarcastic clap.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Alright, Malfoy, tell me. Try not to strain yourself,” Potter said.

“Merlin I wish I had something to throw at you,” Draco said.

Potter nodded to the book in his hand.

“I’m reading that,” Draco said, affronted at the very notion, “And it’s a _library book_.”

Potter laughed. “And since when do you care about library books?”

“It’s is a well known fact that all librarians are absolutely terrifying when it comes to their books.”

“Yeah, but that book’s from Beauxbaton,” Potter said.

“That is even more terrifying. Imagine someone crossing the channel to inflict righteous retribution upon me,” Draco said, holding the book protectively against his chest.

Potter laughed again.

Draco frowned at him, mostly for the look of the thing.

“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to beg?” Potter said.

“Oh, would you?” Draco asked hopefully.

Potter shook his head, “Not a chance.”

“Tease,” Draco muttered. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted-”

Potter snorted.

“I think I’m something closer to what veela used to be. I must have been ‘lucky’-” Draco aggressively finger-quoted, eliciting another snort of amusement from Potter, “-enough to have gotten the perfect mix of genes to turn me into a little monster.”

“You’ve always been a little monster,” Potter said lightly.

“Mother always called me her little angel,” Draco said.

Potter grinned, “Well, you look the part.”

Draco felt himself start to flush and glared, “Oh shut up.”

“Nah.”

Draco looked down at his book, furiously trying not to blush even more than he already was. “The veela have actually been trying very hard to… destroy themselves, I suppose is the best way of putting it.”

“Destroy themselves?” Potter asked, leaning forward.

“They go into detail about picking life partners that have little to no veela heritage and to adopt if it’s unavoidable. Actually, they encourage adoption regardless,” Draco said.

“Why? That sounds, I dunno, sort of grim and sad,” Potter said.

“To avoid suffering, I suppose,” Draco said, “Veela are- they’re assaulted and taken advantage of in much higher numbers than the normal population. And there is very little gain from the veela’s abilities.

“The allure and beauty seem to be the most common ones to inherit and cause the most pain. Can you imagine falling in love with someone only to realise they only care about you because they were compelled to, or their interest was purely superficial?”

Potter sat back with a thump, “…yeah… that’s pretty awful.”

“I’ve just gotten through the history section of the book,” Draco said, “I’m hoping it will actually start being useful now.”

“You could have just skipped ahead, couldn’t you?” Potter said.

“What if I missed something important? I don’t know what might or might not be important,” Draco said.

“Now you sound like Hermione,” Potter said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment seeing as she’s the only of you that can think in a straight line,” Draco said.

Potter smiled, “Sometimes you need to think curly.”

“What?” Draco said, his brow furrowing.

“See? You’d understand that if you were more-” Potter made a wiggly-swimming motion with his hand.

Draco’s confusion deepened, “…Did you hit your head earlier?”

“Never mind,” Potter said, grabbing his bag, “Before I forget, Ron and Hermione want to talk to you.”

“…Why?” Draco asked apprehensively.

“Uhh…they want to try and,” Potter sighed and rubbed his forehead, “try and mend fences.”

“Really? You have to tell me honestly. I do not want to get hit by Granger again,” Draco said.

“Really,” Potter said, looking increasingly embarrassed, “They, uh- because I spend so much time around you, they want to talk to you. …And Hermione is very curious about your being ill, so she’ll probably ask you about that.”

Draco frowned.

“You’re pouting.”

“Shut up,” Draco muttered.

“Well? I can tell them no,” Potter said, looking somewhat hopeful, which forced Draco’s hand. Now he needed to know what Potter didn’t want him to know.

“I suppose. Yes, alright,” Draco said, adding, “I imagine it will be unbearably awkward.”

Potter nodded morosely and slowly finished dragging his bag onto his lap, “…Fine. I spent the last two days practising wand-work until my hand nearly fell off so I could show you all the fiddly parts.”

“Oh,” Draco said.

“Just so you know I wasn’t avoiding you, entirely, or well, I was being useful-” Potter said, rambling and looking a bit flushed.

Draco smiled, marking his place in the book and scooting the edge of the bed.

* * *

  
  


The following day was grey and soft, snow brightening the world with a glow stolen from the sun. Draco followed up lunch with more reading of the veela book, or he tried. The fire was crackling softly in the grate and Potter’s jumper was warm and soft against his skin, and he quite accidentally drifted off into a comfortable doze, only awakened by the prickle of his spine that felt-

Draco sat up abruptly, reaching down to grab his wand off the open book on the floor. He was familiar with how Potter’s magic felt and could probably pick out McGonagall and Pomfrey from a crowd, but the feeling creeping up his spine was none of the people he had become familiar with.

He lifted his wand, bracing his arm on the back of the couch to stand.

“Hermione! Hermione- slow down, would you?”

There was a firm knock on the hatch above the stairs followed immediately by it opening and Hermione Granger’s breathless voice, “Hello! I’m very very sorry to have come unannounced! I hope we’re not bothering you!” She came up the last few steps, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. Weasley was a few steps behind her.

Draco stared at them, frozen in apprehension.

Granger finally turned and startled back against the wall when she spotted him, “OH! Oh,” she pressed her hand over her chest, “I didn’t- Sorry, again.”

“Bein’ spooky, Malfoy?” Weasley said.

“Potter isn’t with you,” Draco said.

“No-”

“It wasn’t a question,” Draco said, sounding more terse than he intended. “Why are you here?”

“Didn’t Harry tell you?” Weasley said, “He said you were alright talking with us-”

“I need to hear it,” Draco said through clenched teeth, fighting to stay calm, his hands were starting to ache, and he lowered them out of sight as the nails began to darken and grow, “It’s _important_.”

“We… we wanted to talk to you and see if we could try being- well if not friendly, at least civil to one another,” Granger said, “Especially with Harry and you being-”

“And you don’t want to hurt me,” Draco prompted.

“What-? No. NO, of course not!” Granger said hurriedly, “Just talk.”

That helped, and Draco found himself nodding, annoyed and frustrated with himself.

“We’re not gonna hurt anyone,” Weasley said, holding up both hands, "We just wanted to talk to you without Harry around.”

“I _am_ sorry,” Granger said, “but I really wanted to talk to you, to maybe ask you for your help.”

“ _My_ help?” Draco said.

“I’m mostly hoping you aren’t trying to trick Harry,” Weasley said, “if you’re toying with him, all bets are off.”

“I’m not. There’s no benefit to it,” Draco said stiffly.

“Being a shite was usually reason enough for you,” Weasley said, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a shrug.

“I’m not fifteen anymore,” Draco said, “Things change.”

“Hope so,” Weasley said.

“Can we sit down?” Granger asked.

Weasley pulled his wand out of his pocket, “I’ll just cast a-”

Draco was off the couch, moving away from them until he felt the cold stone against his back, a hiss in his throat.

Granger and Weasley both froze their eyes wide.

“What just happened?” Granger said slowly.

Weasley lowered his wand with theatrical slowness.

“You’re blocking the door and stairs,” Draco managed, putting his hands behind him. He winced as his hands changed faster than he was comfortable with, scaling creeping over his hands as his nails grew and curved, “And you should have brought Potter with you.”

“…Harry said it wasn’t contagious,” Granger said.

“Still dangerous,” Draco panted, “especially with you two,”

“Us?” Weasley pointed at himself, “What’s special about us?”

“Both hit me, more than a few hexes-” Draco said.

“Well, so have you-” Weasley started.

“It’s not-!” Draco had to close his eyes, willing the rest of himself not to change, letting the fear funnel into his hands.

“Would it help if we put our wands down?” Granger offered.

“Mione!” Weasley said in alarm.

Draco nodded.

“Okay, we’ll put them down on the floor-”

Draco forced himself to look, to see them do it.

“And move away from the door?” Granger said after setting her wand on the stone. She grabbed Weasley’s arm and moved him along the wall without waiting for his answer.

Draco moved with them, keep them opposite himself until his shoulder butted against the fireplace mantle.

“And we’re not going to hurt you in any way,” Granger added for good measure.

Draco nodded, feeling more in control, though his throat was still tight from residual anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” Granger said again, though this time she actually sounded like she meant it. “Are… I don’t mean to pry, but Harry wouldn’t tell us, do you have a maledictus, Malfoy?”

“Are you turning into a cat?” Weasley asked and got a sharp elbow in the side for it, “Oof-hey! He hissed didn’t he-?”

“Shut up, Ron,” Granger said.

Draco laughed weakly, “Gryffindor really ought to have a bull herald instead of a lion, you’re all stubborn idiots with more determination than common sense, charging in without thinking.”

Weasley frowned. Granger winced.

Draco rolled his eyes, Potter would’ve laughed. He also would have mocked Draco back, but that was part of the fun. “I’m not a maledictus,” he said, “I can’t imagine where you got the idea.”

“It’s not infectious,” Granger started listing like he had actually wanted an answer. “-so it must be inherited, you’re pureblood from a long line which means a certain amount of inbreeding-”

“The Malfoy’s moved to england to avoid marrying cousins,” Draco said sourly, “or second-cousins. We’re not stupid.”

“It’s still a remarkably small gene pool, even avoiding cousins and second cousins, I bet you can find familial times with any wizarding lineage-” Granger said.

Draco rolled his eyes again.

“Hermione-” Weasley tried to interrupt.

“-and maledictus isn’t a hard guess since it covers a range of problems caused by your magic-”

“ _Hermione_. Let him _answer_ ,” Weasley said, raising his voice just enough to talk be heard.

Granger glared at Weasley but stopped talking.

“Well, Malfoy?” Weasley said.

“I don’t have to tell you,” Draco said.

Granger took a breath and then deflated slightly, her voice coming out meek, “I suppose not.”

“What, gonna bring shame to your family or something?” Weasley joked, “It’s not like it can get much worse, can it?”

“Ron!” Granger said aghast.

“What? It’s true,” Weasley said.

“It’s _cruel_ ,” Granger said, “We’re trying to get along, not make him hate us more!”

Draco said softly, “…it’s not other people I’m worried about.”

Granger glared at Weasley until he broke.

“Sorry…” Weasley muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Draco took a deep breath, then another. He wasn’t going to hide it. It would only make it all the worse when someone found out, and it was put all over the front page of the paper. It would be better to get it over with than to wait in fear. He had had enough of that for a lifetime.

“I’m a veela,” Draco said.

“A veela,” Weasley looked disappointed, “Course you are, look at you, all pointy and pale. Boring. I thought maybe you were going to turn into a horse.”

Draco stared at him in utter disbelief, “…a horse.”

“Or a cat,” Weasley said with a vague shrug.

Granger frowned, “Then why are you ill? I wasn’t aware that- I mean it doesn’t make any sense if you were born as a veela-”

“Hey, Malfoy, you got an allure? How come I’ve never felt it?” Weasley asked.

“I don’t have an allure,” Draco said.

“Not much of a veela-” Weasley said under his breath.

Draco frowned, concentrating on _calming_ and grabbing hold to the feeling, focusing all his mind on it. He could tell when it washed them, they both jumped and then sagged into one another. Granger’s eyes widened with surprise even as she leaned into Weasley and Weasley grabbed her arm.

“Not an allure,” Draco said, “The allure has three components, desire, compulsion and most importantly, a calming effect that removes all the worry and concern caused by the first two. I only have the calm.”

“I’ve always wondered what the point of an allure was,” Granger said sleepily, “Getting all the attention, stealing boyfriends and ruining marriages- Not that I have anything against Fleur, she’s nice enough.”

“To lure them in and eat them,” Draco said.

Granger blinked trying to summon up surprise or concern and failing, staying sleepily relaxed against Weasley. And it struck Draco, that if he were a predator, it would very, very easy to finish the two of them off right there and then.

“...Veela were predators. I imagine deer and elk and whatever else was around was their primary food source. Then humans started spreading and pushed out other creatures as they are wont to do, and veela adapted to a new kind of prey,” Draco said, “Until, of course, humans got _too_ clever and started hunting the veela.”

“How the hell does a twig like you kill anything,” Weasley said, his voice rough.

Draco hesitated and raised a hand, the slate black talons drinking in the light as he stretched them out and then let them curl back together.

“Err, that’s- that’s, yeah,” Weasley swallowed hard, looking even paler than usual. “Could you take it off now? The not-allure? I was, um, dosed with a love potion once and there was this locket and I- I really can’t stand not bein’ in control what I feel.”

Draco relaxed, removing the calming and taking a few deep breathes, concentrating on changing his hands back as well. He felt… better, immensely better, knowing that he could have such a significant effect with just a calming aura.

“Thanks,” Weasley said hoarsely, giving a shudder and keeping his hold on Granger.

“That was…lovely,” Granger said, still sounding sleepy, “It reminded me of taking a hot bath.” she sighed hugely, “I forgot what it feels like not to _think_ all the time.”

“To answer your earlier question, the veela abilities manifest through a series of intense fevers. It’s supposed to happen around fourteen or sixteen. Unfortunately, at sixteen I thought a madman was going to horribly murder my family and I if I didn’t complete two completely impossible tasks,” Draco hesitated, looking at Weasley, “I’m sorry about the mead.”

“Yeah, me too,” Weasley said, “Can’t stand the stuff now. But I mean, poison? It’s not really your style. Not nearly flashy enough.”

Draco shrugged weakly, “I had to do something. I thought… I thought Snape worked for Voldemort and he was there, watching all the time. I was just buying time. I was always just trying to buy time.”

“You did a good job of it,” Weasley said.

Draco studied his expression, looking for any hint of mockery.

The corner of Weasley’s mouth turned up in something like an understanding smile, “Harry had to explain it to me, that you were buying us time in the manor by not identifying us. He said there was no way you wouldn’t recognise him.”

Draco frowned, fighting down a wave of embarrassment, “You should’ve changed his eyes. They’re very distinctive,” he muttered.

“Yeah?” Weasley grinned, “He thinks yours are rather ‘distinctive’ as well.”

Granger laughed.

Draco looked from one to the other, not sure what he was missing. He decided to change the subject, “You never said what you wanted my help with.”

Granger sighed, “We’re… worried about Harry.”

“I mean, he’s always been intense about things, and when he’s got his mind set on something it’s pretty much impossible to budge him,” Weasley said.

“We don’t think we can change his mind, but if you just… look out for him? Be there for him if he needs it?” Granger said.

“Why would he need me?” Draco asked.

Weasley and Granger looked at each other, sharing a knowing look.

“Peas in a pod, in all the most frustrating ways,” Granger said.

Weasley grinned before looking back at Draco, “Look, just, Harry’s a bit of a mess, I mean we all are, yeah? But he’s- you can’t push him. He doesn’t take it well.”

“Not well at all,” Granger said ruefully.

“Mione’s a bit too direct,” Weasley said.

“I _tried_ being subtle,” Granger muttered, “I don’t think he listened half the time and ignored me the rest.” She half-heartedly pushed her hair back behind one ear, “I think he’d listen to you, though.”

“Me.” Draco said flatly.

“You.” Granger said back in the same tone. “He always finds you again.”

Draco felt another flush of embarrassment and frowned, “That’s because he’s a stalker.”

Granger started to protest, but Weasley spoke first, “True.”

Granger shot a glare at him.

“What? It’s true!” Weasley said, “You didn’t share a room with him. If I had to hear ‘Malfoy is up to something’ one more time I was going to throttle him.”

Granger crossed her arms, “My point stands.”

Draco shivered as he felt a new, but very familiar, person approaching up the stairs. “You said Potter doesn’t like being pushed, then can I assume he wouldn’t be happy you came up here unannounced to talk to me?”

Granger winced, “…Yes, but it’s too important not to; Harry’s too important not to… at least try.”

“And we’re going to get out of here before he comes back,” Weasley said.

“Oh, is that so?” Draco said, his smile growing.

Weasley narrowed his eyes, “What’s with that expression? I know that expression. What are you scheming?”

“Nothing,” Draco said, nearly laughing as the absurdity of the situation washed over him, “ _You’re_ the ones scheming.” He glanced towards the door.

Weasley followed his gaze, his eyebrows rising in alarm as Potter got close enough that his footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs.

“He said he had to talk to McGonagall. I thought it would take at least an hour,” Granger said.

The tension was starting to drain out of Draco, leaving him feeling wobbly with relief as he slid down the wall and sat on the floor, letting his legs sprawl out.

Potter came up the last steps, his righteous fury somewhat lessened when he stepped on Granger and Weasley’s wand, stumbling at they rolled under his feet, “What the fuck?” he snatched the wands off the floor and shook them at Granger and Weasley, “Really, what the _fuck_?! What were you thinking- _Again_?! I was-”

A giggle bubbled out of Draco that he was truly utterly helpless to stop. Him, Draco Malfoy, with Granger and Weasley, and he wasn’t the one being yelled at. He wasn’t the one Potter was angry with.

Potter turned instantly, the table rocking as he shoved past it in his haste to get to Draco, “Are you alright? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Draco said, trying not to laugh again.

“You don’t look fine,” Potter said, his voice sounding strained.

“I am!” Draco said, bracing his hand against the fireplace to push himself back up and then decided it was too much work. He held his hands up, and Potter took them without Draco even having to ask, pulling him up easily and drawing him close. Draco’s arms hung loosely over Potter’s shoulders as he held Draco tight, his voice a muffled whisper by Draco’s ear.

“I told them this weekend, after Hogsmeade, I was going to ask the elves to send up a tea tray-” Potter rambled.

“I’m fine,” Draco said.

“I _told_ them, all they had to do was wait,” Potter said.

“ _I'm_ fine,” Draco insisted, “We talked. It was just a bit tense.”

Potter pulled back slightly, still so close Draco would have only had to tilt his head forward to brush their noses together, “I’m sorry, chickadee.”

Draco blinked, the air between them changing somehow. He noticed that Potter had the faintest of freckles dusted across the tops of his cheeks, cheeks that seemed flushed-

“Errr…maybe we should go?” Weasley said.

Draco looked over Potter’s shoulder, Weasley was holding a hand over his eyes, while Granger covered her mouth with both of hers, her eyes wide; and he burst out laughing.

“Did you know Weasley thought I was going to turn into a horse?” Draco told Potter.

“…cause sometimes a maledictus turns into…um, an animal…” Weasley weakly tried to explain.

Potter sighed, his hands slowly slipping off Draco’s back, grazing his sides and making him shiver.

“You can go yell at them now,” Draco said, enjoying the mixture of frustration and annoyance on Potter’s face.

Potter turned around. Granger and Weasley started offering explanations and apologies, talking over one another at cross purposes as Potter approached.

Draco sat on the couch, leaning over the back to watch the show.

-

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡happy new year♡


	13. Chapter 13

Harry woke with a gasp, sitting up from the narrow pallet bed as shudders racked through his twitching muscles. He put his feet on the floor, focusing on the cold, taking deep breaths until they evened out and the shudders had dropped to a faint tremor.

Harry went over to the couch, adding a log to the coals in before he collapsed back into the thin cushions. He pulled his hair over his shoulder, dragging his fingers carelessly through the tangles and knots as he stared blankly at the small flames creeping up the wood.

He thought he had seen every horrifying thing his mind could conjure. The fiendfyre he almost expected, he had dreamed it before, watching Ron and Hermione get consumed by fire before it came for him. He hadn’t- he hadn’t-

Harry shivered and shook this head trying to get the image out of his mind of the Manor and chandelier falling, Malfoy right under it, his eyes locked with Harry’s as if begging him to save him. And Harry couldn’t move, not until it was too late and the only thing he could see laying among the shattered crystals was a single limp, pale hand, and blood, so much blood, thin and spreading out like it was mixing with water from a bathroom-

Harry shook his head again, pressing his palms against his eyelids until lights danced behind them. He knew better than to try and go back to sleep, his bastard of a mind would only give him more of the same.

It was fine. Morning would come soon enough, and he could catch a few brief naps in class, the kind that never got deep enough for dreams and- be fine. He would be fine.

* * *

  
  


The next night, Harry added a heating charm to his blankets and stoked up the fire so that he slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and sweating through his clothes. Malfoy complained about it being too warm though, so he let the fire go out the following night and only used the charms, adding one to his mattress as well as the blanket.

It worked, until the charms wore off sometime deep into the night, and he found himself sunk into a quicksand of a nightmare that he had to fight to wake from. He was left shaking, his heart racing with unspent adrenaline and an anxious mind that he couldn’t shake from a dream he couldn’t remember.

Harry just- he wanted to splash cold water on his face, to look himself in the mirror and- and- he wanted to see that Malfoy was alright.

He rose to his feet, clutching his shaky hands into fists as he crossed the floor. Despite what Malfoy said, Harry knew how to walk quietly, especially at night when he didn’t want to be heard. Harry had years of practice from the Dursely’s, by the time he was seven, he never got caught when he slipped into the kitchen to sneak a few bites of food, at least not for making noise.

Harry walked on tiptoe, making sure to step on the edges, where people didn’t walk, and the boards weren’t likely to squeak. Once he was on the stones around the edge and the stairs leading up, it was much easier to move silently.

Harry didn’t find what he expected when he came up the stairs. Which was Malfoy asleep, instead, he was sitting up against his headboard, a book propped up on his knees and looking half asleep as he tried to read.

Malfoy looked over at Harry even though he was sure he hadn’t made a sound.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Harry asked.

“Shouldn’t you?” Malfoy asked right back.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well, I just need the loo. But you can’t sleep after I leave, right? If you don't sleep now you're gonna be tired tomorrow.”

Malfoy rubbed his eyes, fighting down a yawn.

“Right?” Harry pressed.

“I’ve been able to take short naps, and I wanted to see if I stayed up, maybe I could sleep even after you’ve left,” Malfoy said.

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling strangely numb. “well, that’s… I mean, what’s the hurry? After you have that last fever, you’ll be back to normal again.”

Malfoy closed the book, “I’m never going to be normal again. Not like I was.”

“I just meant-”

“I know,” Malfoy said quickly. He sighed, his expression shifting too subtly for Harry to decipher. “… I want to know what I can and can’t do, what my limits are. I don’t ever want to be vulnerable again. Not if I can help it. And that means not needing someone just to be able to sleep or even feel safe.”

Harry stared at him for a few seconds too long before his mind kicked him back into motion, “That- that makes sense. I mean, I’d want the same thing if I were you. So, yeah, right-” he turned around heading back down the stairs, heading for the hatch leading out of the tower, in such a hurry he didn’t hear the footsteps running after him.

“Don’t run away,” Malfoy said.

Harry froze, “I just need some air.”

“It feels the same,-” Malfoy said.

Harry turned back around to look at Malfoy. He was still halfway up the stairs, wearing Harry’s old t-shirt, his hair mussed from his haste and looking so devastatingly attractive Harry couldn't have moved if he wanted to.

“-it feels the same to me,” Malfoy said softly.

Harry swallowed hard, his hands balling up into nervous fists, “I mean it, I do understand. I don’t want to- to tie you down either. I don’t want you to feel like you have to-”

“You don’t,” Malfoy said, “that almost makes it worse. I could at least resent you if you were awful about it.”

“I-” Harry sighed hugely, “…sorry, I overreacted, I think.”

“Why did you run?” Malfoy asked quietly, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“I…don’t know,” Harry said.

Malfoy's expression changed again, to one Harry recognised from the night Malfoy had disappeared to Hagrid’s house, sad, apprehensive and hopeful all at once. But this time seeing it made something in Harry’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t stand.

“I think…” Harry said helplessly, “I think maybe I just sort of feel like if you don’t need me, you’ll leave, and I’ll never see you again.”

"How could you think that?" Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, unable to put the weight in his chest into words.

"You..." Malfoy squeezed himself tight, “You’re going to make me say it aren’t you?”

“Say-?”

“I don’t-” Malfoy looked at the wall by his shoulder, “I don’t need you. I- I _want_ you.”

Harry felt his cheeks get hot, the twisting ache in his chest changing into something lighter.

“But it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t feel the same way,” Malfoy said, “I don’t want pity or guilt or to be _saved_. I want to be on equal standing with you.”

Harry looked up at Malfoy and couldn’t fathom them being more unequal at that moment.

“Do you understand?” Malfoy asked.

Harry nodded, “Yeah.”

“And?” Malfoy said, shifting his weight nervously.

Harry took a step up the stairs, “I already want you. I’ve wanted you from the beginning, really.”

Malfoy’s eye widened, his skin taking on a pink flush.

“I thought it was because you’re a veela, but apparently not everyone thinks you’re as attractive as I do,” Harry said, taking another step.

Malfoy pulled his hands to his chest as the flush spread all the way to his ears.

“And at first I was alright with just looking, but now, I’d like to know you better,” Harry stepped up again, close enough to touch though he didn’t, waiting for Malfoy speak, “I read a lot of those fairy tales, and I think it’s pretty important to like you for who you are rather than just how you look.”

Malfoy was bright red.

“Malfoy-?”

“fuck off,” Malfoy said.

“What?” Harry said.

“Do you know what time it is?” Malfoy said his voice strained, “It’s the middle of the night, the fucking sun is starting to come up and I haven’t slept and you say something like that? I can barely think in a straight line and you- you just-!”

Harry grinned with relief.

“I swear to fuck,” Malfoy said with a frown that was mostly pout, “Most of the time getting a straight answer from you is like pulling mandrakes and then you say-! _that_!” he gestured with annoyance.

“That,” Harry repeated with a laugh.

“Don’t you laugh at me,” Malfoy muttered.

“Sorry,” Harry said, “So _that_ is alright? You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” Malfoy said softly.

Harry gently cupped Malfoy’s cheeks, the heat of his skin filling his palms, “You’re going to get a fever if you’re not careful, chickadee,” he said softly.

“If I do, it’s your fault,” Malfoy said.

Harry grinned, “Delightful as always.”

Malfoy started to say something, probably very clever and slightly scathing, but Harry didn’t get to hear it because he wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s waist, picking him up and carrying him back up the stairs.

Malfoy gasped, slapping Harry’s shoulder, “You-!”

Harry dropped Malfoy onto his bed, “When kids get grumpy, it’s time for them to go to bed.”

Malfoy glared at him, “I realise it’s your kink, but just picking people up-”

“It’s not a kink-!”

Malfoy smirked, “The mildest, most boring kink-”

“It’s not a-”

Malfoy jerked forward with uncanny speed, grabbing the front of Harry’s shirt before he could react and easily pulling him down onto the bed with him.

Harry got a face full of Malfoy’s shoulder, which wasn’t very soft but was warm, as Malfoy laughed at him.

“I swear you get lighter every time I pick you up,” Harry said.

“I have bird bones,” Malfoy said, “or maybe bat bones.”

“Wrong. You have veela bones,” Harry said.

Malfoy snorted, “Are you going to move?”

“No.”

Malfoy was quiet for a few moments before Harry felt him tentatively comb his fingers through Harry’s hair, “I don’t mind.”

Harry could smell Malfoy’s shampoo, a sweet flowery smell, and he just let himself relax into the tangle of sheets and Malfoy’s arms.

“What about the bathroom?” Malfoy asked.

“Bathroom?”

“You said you came up to use the bathroom,” Malfoy said.

Harry sighed and said evasively, “Just wanted to splash some water on my face.”

“Nightmares then,” Malfoy said, too perceptive for his own good.

“No-”

“I felt you wake up the first time,” Malfoy said, “and the next night with the fireplace, well, I thought maybe you’d lost your mind or were ill yourself, but it makes more sense that you were trying to avoid bad dreams-”

“It’s fine,” Harry muttered.

“Fine would indicate a certain level of comfort or at least an absence of discomfort, and I don’t think nightmares fit into that definition,” Malfoy said.

“Shut up, Hermoine,” Harry said.

Malfoy tugged on his hair, “I think you’ll find that we’re different people.”

“Yeah, she’s not bony,” Harry said.

“And I’m sure she’d be worried about you, whereas I just think you’re being stupid,” Malfoy said.

“Delightful,” Harry echoed himself ruefully.

Malfoy fingers found a tangle, pulling only slightly before relaxing his grip and carefully combing it out, “I know… I said I wasn’t going to be your personal mind healer, but I would be fine with helping on occasion. …I would like to help if it’s you.”

Harry hesitated, “It’s fine.”

“We already talked about that word,” Malfoy said.

Harry sighed, “I don’t want to bother.”

“I offered, therefore it’s inherently not a bother. Do I need to buy you a dictionary?” Malfoy asked.

“No,” Harry said.

“You probably wouldn’t use it anyway,” Malfoy said.

“Might use it for a doorstop,” Harry said.

Malfoy let out a long pained sigh.

Harry laughed.

Malfoy hand brushed his ear and Harry shivered.

“If you have a nightmare, come to me, and I will calm you back to sleep,” Malfoy said softly, “See, I’m not offering that way you can’t refuse.”

Harry made a vague noise, only half listening. He shifted more onto his side, his head slipping onto the pillow.

Malfoy pulled his glasses off and set them aside before returning to Harry’s hair.

Harry thought he heard Malfoy saying something but heard nothing but the gentle tone of his voice as he drifted to sleep.

* * *

  
  


“Stubborn,” Draco murmured, as he continued combing through Potter’s hair. He found it deeply soothing, the feeling of the thick stands, the loose wavy curls moving through his fingers.

Potter’s breathing deepened, and Draco allowed himself to calm Potter just a little more, so he wouldn’t have another nightmare of course, and so he could study Potter without risk of being caught doing it. He brushed his thumb over Potter’s faint freckles, over his cheek and back through his hair.

This was his. This moment was his, forever. No one could ever take it away from him.

* * *

  
  


Nothing seemed to change at first. A day passed like nothing had happened. The next day was nearly as uneventful until Draco gathered his nerve to lean against Potter while they were sitting on the couch working on a transfiguration paper and found it welcomed as Potter eased his own weight back against him. After that, each touch Draco made was a little bolder, and never turned away. He realised that Potter never made a move, he always waited for Draco, reacting to him. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He kept expecting every time to be rejected and yet he wasn’t.

Draco had once resigned himself to being an enemy of Potter but wanted more.

Then he became an acquaintance, and only wanted more.

He became what he hoped was a friend of some kind, and only wanted more.

Now he had Potter attentions, and he- only wanted _more_.

He really was far, far too greedy.

* * *

  
  


Harry woke slowly, shivering under his blanket from the cold sweat soaking through his clothes. He sat up, feeling stiff, half expecting to still have the smell of the forest caught in his lungs, the strange silence as death eaters surrounded him, only this time there was no second chance, no battle to win, just his body cooling on the damp soil.

He hesitated then grabbed his pillow and went upstairs. He went to sit in the chair and was stopped by Malfoy making an impatient noise at him, pushing his comforter down and moving over. Harry cast a drying spell over himself before setting his wand and glasses on the side table, slipping into Malfoy’s bed, his pillow fitting right beside his.

He tried to take up as little space as possible, laying on the very edge of the mattress.

“Lay down,” Malfoy said grumpily.

“There won’t be enough room-”

“I didn’t ask,” Malfoy said, his sleepy squint somewhat ruining the glare he was shooting at Harry.

Harry laid down and was Malfoy draped himself over Harry’s chest, his face tucked into the crook of his neck. Harry could feel every breath wash over his neck, tickly and warm.

“Sleep,” Malfoy ordered, his calming ability washing over Harry and sinking him back into sleep.

* * *

  
  


“Malfoy,” Harry said softly.

Malfoy grimaced, pulling his blankets up and snuggling down until he was half hidden by them, with only his hair sticking out at odd staticy angles.

Harry looped his scarf around his neck, “You are just a joy in the mornings,” he said absently. He considered just leaving but if he had to choose between dealing with sleepy irritated Malfoy and the much sadder ‘I thought you left’ Malfoy, he’d much rather be grumbled at.

Harry reached out, hesitating, he didn’t want to shake Malfoy’s shoulder, but he wasn’t sure how else to go about it. He envied how easily Malfoy touched him without overthinking it. There were a few times when Harry was acting on instinct that he’d been able to just- not worry about it so much. But he wasn’t acting on instinct now.

Harry pulled down on the blanket, “Malfoy? I’m going to go-”

Malfoy huffed at him, his voice rough with sleep, “It’s the weekend.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s Hogsmeade weekend,” Harry said. “…did you want anything?” he wasn’t sure if he’d have time but, with Ron and Hermione helping him, maybe they could take turns going into town to buy things.

“…sugar quills,” Malfoy said.

“Nothing else?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head, “let go of my blanket.”

Just to be contrary, Harry pulled it up over Malfoy’s head before letting go.

Malfoy jerked the blanket back down, deigning to open his eyes so he could glare at Harry.

Harry grinned and touched his forelock sarcastically, “Sugar quills, it is m’lord.”

“…peasant,” Malfoy muttered, trying not to smile.

Harry was halfway down the stairs when he heard Malfoy say, “I’ll wait for you.”

Harry paused, “It might be dark by the time I get back.”

“It’s dark by four,” Malfoy muttered.

“Yeah, I meant-”

“I’ll wait,” Malfoy said softly.

Harry hesitantly nodded and slowly headed down the stairs, wishing rather desperately that he could slip under those warm blankets and stay.

* * *

  
  


Harry ate a quick breakfast and met up with Ron and Hermione at the front doors. Hermione’s little beaded bag was packed with sandwiches and a thermos of tea. Ron had remembered to dress appropriately for the weather with a matching knit hat and scarf in the eye-searing Cannon’s orange.

McGonagall stood in front of the large group heading out to Hogsmeade, nearly half the school, some wanting to have a break before the tests leading into the winter holidays, but most of them had shopping to do that they had left too long.

“You’re all to be back before dark, at four. Any students caught out later will lose points and possibly earn themselves detention," McGonagall said.

A flurry of panicked whispered went through the already nervous crowd.

“Quiet, please,” McGonagall sighed, “I _will_ wait. It’s not my time you’re wasting.”

The titters and whispers finally died down.

McGonagall continued, “You are all to walk in groups of at least three. I don’t care if you’re friends, join a group, walk together. Take care around the forest, do not approach any animals, and find a prefect or professor immediately if you see a monstrous dog or any animal of concern in the forest.” she scanned over the group of students with a stern expression before nodded, “Very well. Line up.”

The students still dutifully lined up to show their signed permission slips before being allowed out the doors, nearly running once they were free.

Harry, Ron and Hermione ended up at the end of the line. Ron yawning and complaining about how he could still be asleep, while Hermione checked her bag for the sixth time that morning to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

Harry got distracted by the group of third years in front of him. One of them, a boy with sandy hair that curled around his ears and a puffy bright green muggle jacket, was clutching his permission slip like it might vanish if he so much as blinked too long. His two friends were wearing their heavy school robes, one girl with short-cropped black hair and one with shoulder-length brown hair.

“I’m glad you get to come with us this time, Thomas,” The dark-haired girl said.

Tomas nodded, still staring at the crumpled paper.

“It’s too bad about the last Hogsmeade weekend,” the brown-haired girl said with a giggle.

Tomas shot the brown-haired girl a pouty frown.

“He had detention, Imogen, it’s not like he had a choice,” The black-haired girl said.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Yasmin!” Thomas said, throwing up his arms.

“I was just saying,” Yasmin said.

Thomas’ frown grew with a grumbled, “Professor Sprout knows I’m allergic to lousewart. It gives me hives and makes me sneeze, and her stupid gloves and kerchief only work if Davies isn’t trying to shove it in my face every time the Professor turns away.”

“I think it was you calling her stupid, actually,” Imogen said with a smirky grin.

Thomas deflated slightly, “I was just- If she’d just stop him or make him sit somewhere else, is all.”

“Don’t worry,” Yasmin said, “We’ll get him back, and then he’ll leave you alone.”

“He never leaves me alone,” Thomas muttered.

Imogen said thoughtfully, “If he doesn’t, then we’ll just… we’ll think of something.”

“Would you like me to talk to him?” Harry asked.

All three jumped and turned around, their surprise turning to shock when they recognised him.

“Sorry, I just heard, so if you’d like me to talk to this Davies-” Harry offered.

Thomas’ face turned red as he silently shook his head. Imogen nudged him while Yasmin went equally quiet.

Imogen sighed at her friends’ sudden shyness, “No, thank you, sir. We’ll be fine.”

Harry internally winced at the ‘sir’ but went on, “Well, if it gets worse, come to me… and if you haven’t tried it already, you could try writing Davies parents a letter over the holidays, if they’re a decent sort, they might sort him out.”

Yasmin exchanged a look with Imogen. They shared a grin and looked to Thomas, who just seemed bewildered.

Imogen said, “If we all write-”

“Permission slips,” McGonagall interrupted, “I would like to do something other than stand at a door all day.”

The three had their slightly ragged permission slips give a cursory inspection and hurried out the door. Harry caught an excited Imogen saying, “My mum would be furious if I was doing half the stuff that-” before they were too far off to hear.

Ron leaned over Harry’s shoulder, “Send’n a bloke’s mum after him is rough.”

“Yeah, but he might listen to her,” Harry said.

McGonagall rubbed her knuckles absent-mindedly, “…I believe they meant Jeremy Davies, his father lost his leg in the war. I shall see about getting him into the group therapy sessions so he can express himself in a more proactive manner.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, that’s- that’s a good idea.”

“Getting his parents involved is also a good idea I might write them a quick note myself.” McGonagall looked back out at the long ragged line of students winding their way towards Hogsmeade, “Take care to stay warm, it’s particularly cold out today.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, slipping out the door and down the steps, Hermione and Ron at his heels.

* * *

  
  


The stretch of road outside Hogwart’s wards running along to forest to the town was long but fairly straight. It was too cold to just stand around watching a dark line of trees, but they knew better than to rely on warming charms as the heat would melt the snow around their feet and soak through their shoes as the ground turned to mud.

So they walked, slowly, through crusts of snow, that had softened once and then frozen hard so that it broke into jagged chunks as it was stepped on, eventually trod into smaller and smaller pieces until it was almost like a loose sand made of ice and was just as pleasant to walk through. Hermione had brought flashcards and was doing her best to cram dates from history of magic into their heads as they patrolled the road.

They stopped near noon to eat sandwiches and have tea, standing under the eves of the first Hogsmeade building beside the road, talking about whatever came to mind and watching as some of the students started heading back to the castle. They had hardly finished their lunch when Hermione pulled out the flashcards again.

Ron knocked his head back against the wall with a groan of dismay.

Hermione paused and then put the flashcards back in her bag, “How about a break? I need to buy some more study supplies.”

Ron hurriedly nodded.

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said.

“Do either of you need anything?” Hermione asked.

“Nah,” Ron said.

“Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head, “I’ll get it myself.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips, “You _both_ left gift shopping this late?”

Ron scratched his cheek, looking embarrassed.

“I just need sugar quills,” Harry said.

“I could get them for you, it’s only one thing,” Hermione said.

“I wanna get them myself,” Harry said. He saw Ron none-to-subtly mouth _Malfoy_ and rolled his eyes.

Hermione smiled, “Fine. I’ll catch up with you on the road.”

Ron waved as Hermione ran into the crowded street, heading straight to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. He didn’t move until she disappeared into the shop, turning around with a goofy grin on his face that made Harry want to roll his eyes, even if he was more than a little jealous of how good they were together.

“So…” Ron said, kicking at the snow as they walked.

Harry shot Ron a look.

Ron grinned apologetically and asked, “…How’s things with Malfoy?”

Harry shook his head in dismay.

“Well?” Ron pressed.

“You’re not gonna just let this drop are you?” Harry said.

“Not a chance,” Ron said, “You’re my best mate, gotta make sure you’re doing alright.”

Harry sighed, “…Good, actually.”

Ron’s eyebrows rose, “Yeah? No details, but, _yeah_?”

Harry rolled his eyes again, “Really? I’m about as likely to tell you _details_ , as you are to tell me about you and Hermione,” he shuddered at the thought.

Ron laughed, “Fair ‘nough.”

“We talked is all. He told me how he felt, and I told him how I felt and yeah…” Harry took a deep breath letting out slowly in a fog of cold air, “We’re.. something, we’re working it out, I guess.”

“Working out alright?” Ron said, shoving his hands into his pockets, his elbow bumping Harry’s arm.

Harry looked over at him suspiciously.

Ron glanced back, and then very deliberately looked at the forest as they walked, “…it’s not like I wanted to know about you and Gin but… one night she needed someone to listen after you broke up and it was late, and she didn’t want to talk to mum so… I listened.”

Harry frowned at the ground, “Yeah-?”

“So….” Ron sighed, “she said she felt like you and her were more like mates than partners. That she had to initiate everything, hand-holding and kissing and all that,” his nose wrinkled at the thought.

“Not all the time,” Harry muttered, kicking a jagged chunk of snow.

“Enough that she felt like she was doing all the work,” Ron said.

Harry frowned to himself. He had thought they had just grown apart. That they were different people, and they were, but… maybe Ginny had been trying to make it work anyway and he… hadn’t. During the summer, he’d been so busy helping the auror’s he’d barely even seen her. He’d hardly felt anything when Ginny broke it off with him.

“The way I figured it, I didn’t want you to end up in the same cockup all over again,” Ron said.

They reached the archway marking the beginning of Hogwart’s wards and paused for a moment, both staring up at the school.

Harry turned around first, getting a few steps ahead of Ron before he spoke, “The Dursley’s weren’t exactly affectionate, not to me anyway. The closest I ever got to a hug was Dudley putting me in a headlock.” He felt Ron throw an arm over his shoulder and squeezed, his long legs letting him catch up to Harry easily.

“I just don’t know how to go about it,” Harry said.

“Well… you could just tell him?” Ron said.

“What? That I don’t know how to be in a relationship?” Harry said bitterly.

“Yeah? Tell him what you told me.”

“That’ll go over well,” Harry muttered.

Ron shrugged, “If it doesn’t go well, it’s Malfoy, so he’ll probably just be a shit about it. He not gonna bugger off because of that, you’re way too good for him, mate, and he knows it.”

Harry laughed, “Feels like the other way around.”

“Malfoy?” Ron jostled him with a laugh, “Malfoy-? _The_ Malfoy?”

Harry shot him a glare, “I know before he was- Look, he works really hard at everything he puts his mind to. It’s- It’s admirable and-” he cut himself off, realising he didn’t actually want Ron to know about Malfoy’s softer side. He’d rather keep that to himself. And Ron would probably just make gagging noises if Harry told him.

“What about you, then?” Harry asked, trying to shift the subject, “How are you and Hermione doing?”

Ron snorted, “Us? We’re aces. I think she studies too much, she thinks I don’t study enough, but that’s the worst of it. It’ll be easier once we’re done with schooling.”

“She won’t be done, though,” Harry said, “I heard becoming a healer’s the hardest job you can try for.”

“Sure, but its Hermione. She’ll have it sorted in no time, with top marks. And I’ll be done, so I can watch out for her.” Ron grinned hugely, “I’m gonna ask mum to teach me how to cook this summer, so when me and Hermione move in together I can surprise her.”

“You’re going to learn how to cook,” Harry said.

“What?”

Harry shook his head, “You’re just… pretty great.”

“Pretty great? I am all the way great,” Ron said.

Harry laughed, punching his shoulder, “Modest much?”

He saw the trio of third years from this morning, Imogen and Yasmin were too busy talking to notice him, but Thomas caught his eye. Harry gave him a nod and got a hesitant smile in return as they passed one another on the road.

Ron shrugged, “Now here’s the real hard question, what should I get my mum for chistmas?”

“What do you normally get her?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged, “Never had spending money before. I figured since I earned a little from working with George over the summer I ought to get everyone a little something right? Bill and all them started giving gifts once they had jobs.”

“You could always just give sweets?” Harry said.

Ron hummed absently, “That’d work for most of em, and for Dad I can just buy him some random muggle thing, but Mum deserves something nice.”

“Well, she likes cooking and knitting so you could get her something for that,” Harry said.

“Yeah… " Ron nodded thoughtfully, "her scarf’s been getting a bit natty, I could get her some nice yarn, really soft in that weird pinky-purple colour she likes.”

“There you go,” Harry said.

But Ron wasn’t listening anymore, down the road Hermione was heading towards them, trying to walk in the loose snow and put her shopping bags into her little beaded bag at the same time and not doing a very good job at either. 

Ron broke into a run, “Hermione!”

She looked up just in time to get engulfed by Ron, who picked her up and spun her around, her startled laughter filling the air, “Ron!”

“I missed you!” Ron said brightly.

“It wasn’t even an hour,” Hermione smacked his shoulder and then gave him a kiss.

Ron said something quiet in response, too far away and caught in the curls of Hermione’s hair to be heard.

Harry was about to roll his eyes when a scream rent the air.

He turned, already running towards the sound, pulling his wand from his pocket- Yasmin and Imogen stood by the edge of the forest, Yasmin was frozen with her hand pressed over her mouth, Imogen had her wand drawn though it was trembling uncontrollably in her hand.

“Where?!” Harry shouted as soon as he was close, already cutting towards the forest.

Imogen pointed into the line of black trees, “T-Thomas-!”

“Get my friends!” Harry yelled over his shoulder, dodging through the snow-covered undergrowth.

Off the road, he could follow the tracks, wolf prints and something it was dragging, streaks of blood joining the broken snow. He ran through the trees, eyes scanning ahead for- The green of Thomas’ coat bright against the white snow, his arm torn and bloody, Thomas’s face was as pale as milk and passed out for the shock and pain. A wolf towered over the boy, hunched back and strange, its legs looking too long, its arms too short, black hair gone patchy and thin in places, the stained remnants of clothes- scraps caught around its waist.

Harry froze for just the barest scrap of a second as a wave of horror and revulsion washed over him.

The wolf made a sharp gurgling howl before snapping at the front of Thomas’ jacket, the thin fabric tearing, cotton spilling out-

“ _Diffindo!_ ” Harry shouted, the severing charm cutting along the wolf’s side, a line of split flesh seeped blood so dark it looked black-

The wolf lunged at him, mouth snapping at open-air as Harry stumbled back, “Confringo!” the blasting curse hit the wolf like a blunt hammer, flinging it back into the brush.

Harry hurried over to Thomas, throwing him over his shoulder, and retracing his steps back to the road hoping- He heard the paws crunching through snow, the snapping of branches and that horrible whining howl coming closer-

Harry turned, trying to concentrate over the rush of adrenaline, watching the trees for any sign of movement, binding spell on the tip of his tongue.

“Mr Harry Potter, sir-”

“ _You_ \- You shouldn’t-” Harry said, his heart picking up as he spotted Imogen out of the corner of his eye. He let Thomas slip from his shoulder down to the ground, “Take him. Use a lighting spell, levitation, get him out of here-”

Imogen grabbed Thomas, “Your friends, they’re coming-”

“GO!” Harry shouted, taking a step in front of them.

The wolf trotted out of the trees, not bothering to hide, jaw falling open as it panted with a moaned whine. The wound in its side was already closing, slowly knitting into a long pale scar.

Harry raised his wand as the wolf leapt at him, shouting, “ _Incarcerous_!” thick ropes binding around the wolf's body but not stopping its momentum as the thing slammed into him with all its weight, throwing Harry back against a tree with a vicious thud, everything going black.

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Draco sat on the couch, his back straight, growing stiff and aching as he forced himself not to look at the window for the thousandth time. It was dark. It had been dark ages. Dinner had come and gone, and Potter had not come back.

Draco closed the book he had been reading, though he had been stuck on the same page for what felt like an hour, and finally let himself think about what might have happened. Potter dying was impossible, someone would have told him, or at the very least he would have heard the wailing and shouting even from here if the precious Harry Potter was to die. He squeezed his eyes shut with a shudder, shaking his head to try and get rid of the thought. Even impossible, it hurt.

Another possibility, also unlikely, Potter had decided to stay with his friends. But he knew Draco was waiting, he had told him so. And Draco was…he was almost certain Potter would have sent him a patronus or even an owl; he cared about Draco that much at least.

That meant Potter had no control over what was making him late.

Draco stood up, going upstairs to his wardrobe. Potter was probably injured. Probably. He was good at getting injured, at this point he likely had the school’s record for most visits to the hospital wing. Draco grabbed one of his robes, pulling it on as he headed back downstairs, and down the tower. He ran through a few other possibilities in his mind: kidnapping, love potion, professor held him back, auror or ministry requisition… Draco pulled the hood over his head as he stepped out into the cold hallway. And if it were any of those he could track down Granger or McGonagall and ask them what happened to Potter, but he wasn't waiting anymore.

The hallways were so dark they were mostly shadow but Draco decided against using a lumos to light his way. He just hoped his cloak would hide him well enough that he would have time to hide if he stumbled upon a paroling professor of prefect.

He felt Potter before he saw the door to the hospital wing and was flooded with relief, walking even faster in his haste. It was just as he had thought, Potter had gotten hurt somehow.

“Hey! It’s after curfew. What house are you from?” a voice called from behind him. 

Draco stopped. He had been so focused on getting to Potter, he had forgotten to pay attention. It wasn’t like he could run away. Draco hoped he could convince whoever it was he was sick and let him go to the hospital wing unimpeded.

Draco turned, recognition mixing with dread as he stared at the big fifth-year ravenclaw boy, the one that liked to slam him against walls. At least his greasy little friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Of course, you’d be a prefect,” Draco said.

The fifth-year bristled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That bullies make good tattle-tales,” Draco said, “I should know.”

“Don’t you dare fucking compare me to you, you _slimy fucking worm_ ,” the fifth-year snarled, stalking towards him.

“You know I had nothing to do with what happened to your sister,“ Draco said, feeling remarkably calm.

“Fuck you fuck you, don’t you talk about her, don’t you ever-” the fifth-year grabbed the front of Draco’s robes, raising his fist.

Draco grabbed the boy’s wrist. He felt the fifth-year try to jerk it back, but Draco held on easily. He squeezed the boy’s wrist and watched in fascination as his fist uncurled, twitching with pain as he cried out. Draco was stronger than him. But not as heavy, he didn’t have the weight so it would be important that Draco didn’t let the boy get the upper hand.

“Let me-! What?! What’s going- Let me go!” the fifth-year said, letting go of Draco’s robe and pulling back.

Draco followed him, letting the momentum carry them back, shoving the fifth-year against the wall. He grabbed the boy’s robes and shirt at the collar, twisting them tight around his throat.

Draco could feel the thrumming heat filling his hands, his hands changing into talons, tearing through the fifth-years robe like tissue paper. The fifth-year’s free hand clawed at Draco hand at his throat, his blunt nails sliding off the scales forming on Draco’s skin, the fifth-years eyes growing wide and panicked by what he felt there, almost more white than colour. The boy could still breathe, Draco could hear the wheezing.

All he would have to do is squeeze, it would be so easy- Draco felt his hands twitch, his heartbeat picking up with a sudden burst of adrenaline and excitement.

_No_.

No. He wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t going to-

He loosened his grip.

No.

Draco took a deep breath then another. Trying to calm himself down.

“…I was sixteen when I had to take the mark,” Draco said quietly, “I did a lot of terrible things. But I never went on the raids. I’ve never killed anyone. And I’m sorry about your sister.”

The fifth-year stared at him, frozen like a rabbit and looking just as stupid.

“I’m _trying_ to be better,” Draco took another calming breath. “That said, if you _ever_ touch me again, I will gut open and strangle you with your own intestines.” He let go of the fifth-year and took a step back, “Do you understand me?”

The fifth-year nodded frantically, sliding along the wall away from him, “What are you?” he said, utterly horrified.

“A monster,” Draco said, his voice sounding hollow in his own ears.

The fifth-year edged a few steps further away before turning and bolting back down the hallway.

Draco didn’t move. His hands changed back and then began shaking as the reality of what had just happened washed over him.

How much of him was this cruel monster? And how much was him? Was his cruelty something he learned, or something he had in him all along-? like a cancerous rot.

Draco shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut.

He was trying to be better, but was it even possible? Or was there just something _wrong_ with him? Something he couldn’t fix.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco eased the door to the hospital wing open just wide enough to slip inside. He headed towards a bed near the end of the room where Potter was but paused near the door. There was one other bed, occupied by a younger student, he had tossed and turned and kicked most of his blankets off, the arm laying over his stomach was covered in fresh pale scars that looked like a bite mark, from something big.

Draco stared at the scars before turning and looking out the window. The moon was heavy, but it wouldn’t be full for a few more days. There were only a few things that magic couldn’t cure entirely and left a scar, all rare and mostly dark, and one was the wounds left by a werewolf.

Draco hurried to the other occupied bed and cast a silencing spell around it. There was an empty potion vial by the bed which Draco picked up, squinting at the label in the low light. It was dreamless sleep, which meant Draco would have to wait until morning to talk to Potter. At least there were no blood-replenishing potions, no dittany, and no new scars.

Potter was laying on his side, Draco sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against his back. Potter’s hair was tangled and knotted, looking rough, wet and then dried again. Draco ran his hand over the hair spread over the pillow, finding a few pieces of bark and a fragment of a twig which he carefully pulled out. He started at the bottom, combing and untangling Potter's hair one strand at a time, being careful not to pull even though he knew Potter would sleep through it. His hair smelled like sap and pine needles, and the smell lingered on Draco’s fingertips.

By the time he was done, Draco could comb through Potter’s hair from root to tip without a single snag. And he was no longer shaking. He knew he’d probably get in trouble if he stayed but decided being yelled at was far better than leaving ever would be.

Draco laid on the edge of the bed, slipping an arm around Potter. The pillow was too small to share, but he was tired enough that it didn’t matter.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“ _Mr Malfoy_ , what do you think you’re _doing_?”

Harry’s first thought was that Pomfrey’s shrill voice was probably one the worst things to wake up to, if for no other reason than it meant he was in the hospital wing again. He could hear Malfoy’s trademark morning grumble behind him, as well as him trying to avoid getting up by hiding his face; pressing it into the back of Harry’s neck, his lips brushing across the sensitive skin. 

Harry shivered, not fully aware of how strange it was that Malfoy was even there. But it was nice. He was happy that Malfoy was here. That’s all that mattered.

“It’s fine,” Harry said, his voice low and broken by sleep.

“It most certainly is _not_ ,” Pomfrey snapped, obviously put into a bad mood by waking up to unexpected an visitor in her infirmary.

“You can’t make him not have been here when he already is, and I don’t mind so-” Harry said.

“ _So_ nothing. You will owe me a detention once you are done with your changing, Mr Malfoy,” Pomfrey said, “And I won’t hear otherwise.” She turned on her heel and walked to the other end of the room.

“What sort of detention would it even be?” Malfoy muttered.

“Changing bedpans?” Harry suggested for a lark.

“Ughhhh,” Malfoy groaned, squeezing his arm tight around Harry.

Harry laughed, “I doubt there will be anyone here who needs a bedpan. And you’d probably just vanish the, uh-”

“Don’t,” Malfoy warned, “don’t even. I haven’t had breakfast yet and you’re going to ruin my appetite.”

Harry would have been happy to stay as they were all day, but Malfoy let go and slowly sat up. After he had a few seconds to will himself to move, Harry got up as well. He winced as a brief wave of dizziness washed over him that seemed to settle into a faint throbbing headache. Harry grimaced, pressing a hand to his head. He didn’t like headaches, they reminded him of… the past.

“Careful, careful,” Pomfrey tutted as she came back, handing Harry a pain potion, “You had a bit of a concussion. I’ve done what I can to reduce the swelling and injury, but there’s only so much magic can do when it comes to the mind.”

“A concussion?” Harry said, drinking the potion quickly and shivering as the pain in his head faded.

“What else?” Malfoy nearly demanded.

That earned Malfoy a disapproving look before Pomfrey looked back at Harry, “You broke a few ribs, along with some other minor fractures, those are all healed, although you should know well enough by now that they will be a bit more fragile for a month or so.”

Harry nodded, wondering what happened to the wolf, “No one else was hurt?”

“No,” Pomfrey said and then softened as she glanced back at Thomas, “Thank Merlin.”

“Can I go then?” Harry said.

“No, you cannot,” Pomfrey said.

“Why? You said you healed everything you could,” Harry said.

Harry got the disproving look this time. “You need to _rest,_ but I can’t keep you here-”

“Then-”

“-until Minerva talks with you, that is,” Pomfrey said, “She wants to hear everything that happened. Hermione and Ronald will be coming as well. So you will stay here until then.” She turned to go back to Thomas’ bed and spun back around, shaking a finger at him, “And _rest_.”

Harry turned to Malfoy, “What’re you doing here?”

Malfoy grabbed a handful of Harry’s hair and pulled, “Was I just supposed to wait like a good maiden in a tower and just hope you weren’t dead?” gave his hair another tug.

Potter winced though it barely hurt, “I was knocked out. It’s weird that Hermione or Ron didn’t tell you.”

“Why in the world would they? They don’t like me,” Malfoy said.

“They don’t hate you or anything, and they know _I_ like you,” Harry said.

Malfoy let go of Harry’s hair with a flush, “So what happened?”

“A student got attacked,” Harry said.

“I gathered that much on my own,” Malfoy said, nodding to the bed where the young student was sleeping, “and you came to the rescue.”

Harry frowned at him, “I couldn’t leave him-”

“I know,” Malfoy said. He placed his hand over Harry’s threading his fingers through Harry’s, “…but not knowing was… terrible.”

“Sorry, chickadee,” Harry said, his voice soft as he leaned against Malfoy, “I just couldn’t leave him.”

Malfoy nodded faintly, biting his lip in thought.

McGonagall’s clipped, no-nonsense footsteps made them look up.

“How are you doing, Harry?” McGonagall asked, summoning three chairs, which arranged themselves at the end of Harry’s bed, and sat down.

“I feel fine,” Harry said quickly, not wanting to be trapped in the hospital wing, “Good as new.”

Malfoy shot him a look.

“I’m glad no serious damage was incurred, although I do wish no one had been hurt at all,” McGonagall said. She clasped her hands together over her knees tightly, her knuckles going white, “I’ve temporarily changed Hogwarts wards so no one can go in or out. I will notify all the students that the severity of the threat has changed later today.”

Malfoy swung his legs off the edge of the bed, his rigid posture a fair imitation of McGonagall’s. Harry grabbed his glasses, squinting at them for a second to make sure they weren’t cracked or bent before putting them on, the room coming into focus.

“Hogsmeade is reinforcing their own wards,” McGonagall said, she looked down at her hands, stretching them out, forcing them to relax with a frown, “I had hoped this year would be calmer and safe. I want my students to be safe.”

“You’re doing what you can,” Harry said awkwardly.

McGonagall looked at Malfoy, “…I’m surprised to see you here, Draco.”

Malfoy’s chin lifted, looking nervously defiant, “I was worried about him.” he waited, anticipation writ all through the tension in his body.

“Good,” McGonagall said, she nodded, “I’m glad. I hoped the two of you might work out your differences. You have far more in common than you think.”

Malfoy relaxed, through his looked a little put out that he didn’t have to defend himself.

McGonagall hesitated and then sighed, “I was hoping to speak to you sooner than this but the time leading up to the break is always hectic-”

“Yes?” Malfoy said, worry replacing the tension.

Harry wanted to reach over and hold Malfoy’s hand again, he wasn’t even sure when Malfoy had pulled his back. His hand felt colder for the absence.

“Are you planning on going home for the holidays?” McGonagall asked.

Malfoy shook his head, “I can’t leave, so Mother would have to come here and with the international portkey and- it’s just easier not to.”

“I understand,” McGonagall said.

“If it’s not to much trouble,” Malfoy added nervously, “I would appreciate being able to firecall my mother.”

“Of course, you can use the fireplace in my office, you won’t be disturbed there,” McGonagall said.

Malfoy nodded, relief washing over him.

There was an awkward beat as they all seemed to run out of things to say.

McGonagall looked towards the door, “I did tell Ron and Hermione to be here promptly after the first bell.”

“They’re just down the hall,” Malfoy said.

Harry and McGonagall looked at him.

“So s-soon,” Malfoy said, tripping over his words, “…I think it’s them anyway…”

The door the hospital wing was pulled open, Ron and Hermione shuffled inside, both still looking sleep ruffled.

Harry and McGonagall looked back at Malfoy, who was looking studiously at his hands.

“Is this related to your veela abilities?” McGonagall asked.

Malfoy nodded, glancing at Harry, “I can feel people coming. I think maybe it’s their magic I’m sensing, but I haven’t actually been around any muggles to test it.”

“Why would veela need such a… unique ability?” McGonagall asked.

“Probably to sense other veela, they were- are very territorial, but that’s just a guess on my part,” Malfoy said, mumbling a bit.

Ron and Hermione sat down in the other chairs. Ron yawned hugely, prompting a mirror yawn from Hermione.

“Wait…” Harry said as he slowly began adding things up in his mind, “Is that why you always know when I’m coming?”

Malfoy nodded.

“And all those times you startled me-”

Malfoy was trying not to grin and failing, turning his head to hide it.

“You little shit,” Harry said.

“Now it won’t be nearly as much fun,” Malfoy said, putting on a morose tone.

Harry glared at him, “You’re still going to do it though.”

“I mean… probably, just a little,” Malfoy said.

“If we could get on with the task at hand,” McGonagall interrupted.

“Um, right,” Harry said, “How much do you already know-?”

“Please start from the beginning,” McGonagall said.

Harry nodded, “I heard someone yelling- we were on the road outside Hogsmeade- so I ran into the forest.”

“You ran towards the danger-?” Malfoy said.

Around him, no one batted an eye.

“When you _knew_ it was likely a _werewolf_?” Malfoy said, in disbelief.

“Oh, Harry told you?” Hermione said.

Harry shook his head.

Malfoy frowned, “I saw the plaster cast Potter made of the werewolf prints, and spoke with Hagrid who told me about the thestral.”

“You saw the prints? Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asked.

“I wanted to see if you’d lie to me,” Malfoy said.

Harry flinched.

McGonagall cleared her throat, “If we could return to the topic at hand.”

“Uh…” Harry said, “r-right… so I- I followed the tracks in the snow and the- the blood until I found Thomas. The wolf had started tearing into his jacket, so I hit it with a cutting curse.”

McGonagall tutted.

“I wasn’t really thinking. I just wanted to get its attention away from Thomas, and then I hit it with a blasting spell which threw it a ways off, and I grabbed Thomas.” Harry looked at McGonagall, “I remembered what you told me as I was heading back towards the road so when it caught up with me again, I used a binding spell, but it was already jumping and I got thrown back into something and that’s all I remember.”

“You were thrown into a tree,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “We found you at the base when we showed up. The werewolf had already torn through half the ropes around it, so Hermione and I both hit it with blasting curses. It flew pretty far. I was sort of hoping that’d finish it off.”

“It might have broken some bones, but that wouldn’t slow a transformed werewolf down for long,” McGonagall said.

“It was transformed?” Malfoy asked with a confused frown, “the full moon is still days away.”

“I didn’t get a good look,” Hermione said.

“Looked hairy enough for it, I think,” Ron said.

Harry felt his skin crawl just remembering it, “I remember how Remus looked when he changed and… that thing in the forest looked wrong. It didn’t look fully wolf or human, like it was starting to turn back and just stopped.”

“What are going to do about the boy?” Malfoy asked, his voice sounding strained. 

He was looking down at the occupied bed where Thomas still slept, with an expression that made the hair stand up on the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry looked from Malfoy to Thomas, trying to understand what he was missing.

“His wounds were treated with powdered silver and dittany and have healed as well as can be expected,” McGonagall said, “We won’t be able to tell if he’s contracted lycanthropy until the next full moon, or perhaps even the moon after that, it can take a while to manifest-”

“No, that’s not- the thestral _died_ ,” Malfoy interrupted.

“What?” Ron said, “but we were there when Hagrid healed its leg, it was fine.”

“Hagrid said it never recovered, it just weaker and wouldn’t eat or drink, and he had to put it down.” Malfoy looked back at the Thomas, “so what if-?”

Hermione gasped, her eyes going wide, “It’s _sick_ , the werewolf is- I _knew_ it was strange that every time it was seen it was transformed but nowhere near a full moon. If it was sick, that would explain it!”

“If you could please get to the point, Hermione. This sounds quite serious,” McGonagall prompted, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

Hermione nodded hurriedly, talking even as she was obviously already thinking far ahead, “I’ve never read of any specific cases with a werewolf, but there have been cases of animagus being unable to change back because they were too weak or ill and doing so would kill them, it requires a great deal of energy and magic to change forms like that, so it stands to reason a werewolf could get stuck in the same way, _especially_ since werewolves can heal nearly any mortal wound while transformed but don’t retain the ability when they aren’t-” she stopped abruptly and frowned.

Harry exchanged a nervous look with Ron, that look always meant trouble.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“Werewolves can heal nearly any mortal wound,” Hermione repeated slowly, “if the werewolf has been transformed for over a month and it hasn’t healed itself… whatever it has could be very dangerous. The transformation might be the only thing keeping it alive.”

They all looked over at Thomas, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully in his bed. Harry shuddered.

“How dangerous?” McGonagall asked.

“Is Hagrid still healthy?” Hermione asked.

“He was yesterday, at least as far as I could see,” McGonagall said.

“Okay. And we haven’t heard of any other animals or people getting sick and dying suddenly,” Hermione said, “So I think it’s safe to say it’s probably transmitted through blood or saliva. We’ll need to put Thomas under a stasis spell to be safe until we know for sure if and what he’s been infected with.”

“Poppy!” McGonagall called as she stood up, already heading towards Thomas’ bed, Hermione at her heels.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Ron stretched his arms over his head with another yawn, slumping down in the chair.

“Now what?” Malfoy asked.

Ron shrugged, “Now we wait for Hermione to tell us what to do.”

Malfoy stared at him.

“Hermione’s planning to be a healer,” Harry explained.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, before turning to Ron, “It would have been nice to know Potter was injured.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, “You can call him Harry, you know.”

Malfoy flushed.

“You could’ve sent Malfoy a patronus or an owl something?” Harry asked.

“Not you as well!” Ron said, throwing his hands up dramatically and then laughing.

Harry felt himself blush as well, “I’ve only ever called him Malfoy. He’s Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded faintly, rubbing a palm against his red cheek.

“Barmy, the both of you,” Ron shook his head. “Well…after we got you and the kid out of the forest, Hermione and his friends took you two back to the castle. I went and stopped anyone else going down the road until I got enough prefects together and we could move the students in groups and then went to check up on you, and yeah,” he shrugged, “it was late, and we were knackered. Sorry.”

Malfoy nodded silently.

Ron stood up, “I’m gonna see if Hermione wants me to do anything before I head to breakfast.” He patted his pockets and pulled out a silver tin, “Catch, Malfoy,” he said, tossing it to him.

Malfoy caught it easily and turned it over in his hands, “Bruise balm?”

“Well, I’m not gonna do it. Have fun!” Ron said and then laughed before going over to Hermione.

Harry glanced back at Malfoy and found the source of Ron’s amusement was Malfoy having gone entirely red.

“What?” Harry said.

“It’s-” Malfoy’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat, “it’s for you. You hit your back pretty hard.” he turned the tin so Harry could see the label.

“Oh,” Harry said and ducked his head, “It’s not that bad.” He sat up straight and rolled his shoulders, only to wince from the stiff ache in his muscles.

“Not that bad,” Malfoy said flatly. “Do you want me or Pomfrey to put it on? And please be aware that ‘I’m fine’ is not one of the options.”

“You,” Harry said.

“Not exactly a difficult choice, I am definitely the more attractive of the two of us,” Malfoy said.

Harry laughed.

Malfoy popped the lid off the tin and waved at Harry to hurry up.

Harry turned around, popping open enough buttons to pull the pyjama top over his head.

Malfoy sucked in a startled breath.

“That bad, huh?” Harry said lightly.

* * *

  
  


Bruises bloomed across Potter’s shoulder blades and down, mottling across his ribs, staining his tan skin wine purple and blue with dark red spots in the centre of the largest marks. Draco reached out, brushing his fingers over Potter’s back, his skin twitching and jumping under his touch.

“Does it hurt?” Draco asked quietly, pulling his hand back.

“N-no,” Potter said, “You’re- you’re always so gentle.”

Draco scooped out a generous amount of the thick yellowish gunk, and spread it across the worst bruise, bigger than his hand, spreading it over Potter’s skin. “Should I be rougher?”

“No. It’s fine, you’re fine,” Potter said, his head dropping his chest, as his voice softened to an almost sleepy slowness.

“You think I’m gentle,” Draco said. He moved to Potter’s other shoulder, being far too through with the balm than he really needed to, tracing the lines of Potter’s back. Potter’s breathing was as calm and slow as it was when Draco used his calming.

“Yeah…” Potter said, “It’s nice. …I like it… just not used it s’all.”

If Harry Potter wasn’t used to be treated gently, then Draco thought he ought to spend as much time as he possibly could utterly spoiling with Potter with tenderness. For as long as Potter would have him. And he had a few more secrets no one else knew, little shining treasures that belonged only to him.

“He likes carrying people and being treated gently, who would believe the great Harry Potter was so soft,” Draco teased lightly.

“Probably no one,” Potter said, far too honestly.

Draco bit his lip, getting another dollop of bruise balm and sliding it over Potter’s ribs, eliciting a surprised jump and laugh, “…and he’s ticklish.”

“Sh-shut up!” Potter laughed, fighting to keep himself from pulling away from Draco’s touch.

Draco didn’t try especially hard not to tickle him, at least until Pomfrey told them to quiet down. Draco went back to rubbing into the balm on Potter’s upper back, he was fairly certain it didn’t need to be rubbed in, but if Potter wasn’t complaining, he wasn’t going to stop.

Once Potter caught his breath back, he said, “…And I’m sorry that I lied to you.”

Draco made a dismissive noise, “Well, we weren’t… we weren’t…”

“Together?” Potter suggested.

Draco felt his face get hot and wondered if Potter would ever stop making him feel so endlessly flustered, “Is that what we are?”

“If you want,” Potter said.

“I already told you, I want,” Draco said quietly. “Do you?”

Potter nodded.

“Okay,” Draco said, grateful that Potter was faced away from him. He pressed his hot cheek into his shoulder. “And anyway, I learned something important from you lying to me.”

He felt Potter twitch faintly under his hand.

“I think, you thought you were protecting me,” Draco said.

“S’not like you could have done anything. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“That sounds about right…” Draco said, “Since- since we’re learning about one another- Right-?”

“Right,” Potter said.

Draco nodded to himself, “Since we’re learning about one another, I’d rather worry. I’d rather know. I- being lied to is a thousand times more painful. You’re not protecting me by not telling me, you’re- it hurts far worse.”

A shiver went through Potter, “Okay. Okay-I won’t- I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Careful,” Draco said lightly, trying to distract things so maybe his cheeks would have time to cool down, “They say if you’re not careful a promise can stick, whether you mean it or not, and then you have to call a curse breaker.”

“Is that true?” Potter asked, looking over his shoulder and then grinning hugely.

Draco turned away so Potter couldn’t see his face, wiping his hands off on his discarded hospital shirt, “I don’t know. It’s a story, everyone’s heard it.”

“Oh, so it’s like your ears burning when someone’s talking about you,” Potter said.

“What?” Draco had to look back to frown at Potter, “That doesn’t make any sense. Is it a jinx?”

Potter shrugged, turning back around, “It a muggle thing, like a superstition. I think I’ve heard if you sneeze it’s cause someone’s talking about you too.”

“It sounds like a child’s play curse,” Draco said.

Potter raised his eyebrows.

“You know, when you were a kid, and you’d find a stick and point it at things and make up spells,” Draco said.

“Raised muggle,” Potter said with a sad smile, “sounds like fun, though.”

Draco nodded absently, “It was. _Until_ I did magic by accident and turned a couch into a zebra.”

Potter’s smile grew, “Did you really?”

“It broke my great aunt Matilda’s stupid fabergé egg,” Draco grumbled, “Mother repaired it, but I was in trouble for ages. It’s not like I wanted a zebra, much less one that kicked things and wouldn’t listen.”

“What did you want?” Potter asked.

Draco glared at Potter, daring him to laugh, “…a unicorn.”

“Like your wand core,” Potter said.

Draco’s frown grew as he studied Potter’s expression, looking for the hints of mocking that surely had to be there, like the sigh of disappointment his father had done when he brought his new wand home. He had been so proud of it too, until then.

“It suits you,” Potter said.

“Stop it, stop making me blush,” Draco said irritably.

“Why? I think it’s cute,” Potter said with that stupid smile of his.

“It is not,” Draco said petulantly, “I look like a boiled prawn.”

Potter’s grin grew, “That too, but still cute.”

“Shut up,” Draco muttered.

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

  
  


The house elves sent them breakfast, two trays overloaded with food to try and keep up with Draco’s appetite. Though after Potter’s run-in with the wolf, he ate nearly half of it himself.

After the last bite of toast was used to mop up the last smear of egg yolk, and the trays disappeared, Draco stood up. He tried to straighten his clothes, but they were hopelessly sleep rumpled. “I’m going to go see Hagrid,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter said.

Draco raised his eyebrows, “I said-”

“I heard you,” Potter said, a hint of…something in his voice, “You’re going to see Hagrid, and what am I supposed to do?”

“Rest?” Draco suggested and then realised what the tone and the look, all of it was, Potter was _pouting_. “Oh…” he couldn’t quite stop a delighted smile.

Potter frowned at him, “ _What_?”

“Nothing,” Draco said, trying to fight the smile down, “You could go up to the tower, or find Weasley, or rest here. I’ll only be an hour, maybe two.”

“Fine,” Potter flopped face-first onto the bed.

Draco moved the hair off Potter’s back that was sticking to the half absorbed bruise balm. He decided Potter’s own words would be most suited to this moment, “When kids are grumpy, it’s time for a nap.”

Potter turned his head to the side to glare at Draco.

Draco pulled off Potter’s glasses and set them on the night table. The glare became far more squinty, which made Draco laugh.

“fuck off,” Potter muttered.

“I plan to,” Draco said.

Potter caught his hand when Draco turned to leave and gave it the briefest squeeze.

Draco squeezed back before Potter let go.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco raised his hand to knock on the door of Hagrid’s cabin, the knock sounding very small against the heavy wood. He waited and was almost certain he’d have to knock again when the door was pulled open.

“Oh, it was someone then,” Hagrid said, “Yeh got ter knock louder than that if yeh want to be heard.”

Draco nodded, “Sorry, I know it’s early. I was wondering-”

“Were yeh hopin’ to do some flyin’?” Hagrid asked.

Draco nodded again, “I need more practice.”

“Come in then,” Hagrid gestured him inside, “Jus’ finished eatin’ so I’ll need a bit of time to get all me winter kit on.”

Draco hurried inside. He wasn’t really dressed for winter, he hadn’t planned to come outside last night when he’d gone looking for Potter.

Fang got up from the rug by the fire, his tail wagging tentatively as he walked over. He sniffed Draco’s outstretched hand, his tail thumping loudly against all the furniture around him as he recognised Draco.

“Good boy, Fang,” Hagrid said, patting the boar-hound on the back as he walked past to get his boots. He sat in the big armchair by the fire and pulled them in front of him.

Draco scratched behind Fang’s ears and did his best to avoid being covered in slobber; his hands got the worst of it, Fang too excited to care where he was licking.

“I also wanted to ask you something,” Draco said nervously.

“Go on then,” Hagrid said.

“How do you avoid getting hurt?”

“I suspect yeh aren’t talkin’ ‘bout physically,” Hagrid said.

“No,” Draco said.

Hagrid pulled on a boot, “Well, tell me what yeh do mean then.”

Draco looked down at Fang, “What if there was someone… someone who hasn’t seen me fully transformed yet, and I’m- I’m afraid they might think I’m a monster. And be disgusted, and it would ruin everything…”

Hagrid nodded thoughtfully as he tied up his other boot, “Do yeh like stories much?”

“I used to,” Draco said, “They don’t tend to end well for the creatures-”

“Like us,” Hagrid said.

Draco nodded reluctantly.

“There’s one I’m fond of,” Hagrid said, “It’s from japan, I think. It’s called ‘the crane wife’. Have yeh heard of it?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said.

“There are lots of versions of it, all sorts of twists, but there’s one that always sort of stuck with me,” Hagrid said.

Draco hands slipped over Fang’s short glossy fur and slowed as he listened.

“It’s about this crane, she sees this fisherman and falls head over heels in love with the bloke,” Hagrid said, his voice slow and careful as he picked out his words, “so she plucks out all her feathers to become a lady, an’ a beautiful one at that. An’ he’s head over heels for her soon as he sees her, so’s they get married. But to keep from turning back into a crane, she’s got ter keep pluckin’ her feathers out. Every night she does it while he’s asleep, even though it wears her thin. O’ course, eventually, she’s too tired an’ falls asleep instead, an’ the next mornin’ her husband finds she’s a crane and he chases her away.”

Fang whined against Draco’s still hands, and he belated scratched the top of his head, swallowing hard against the bitterness at the back of his throat, “If she had told him from the beginning-”

“She was the same person, of a sort, no matter how she looked. If the crane lady thought he’dve been amenable from the start she’d never have thought she had ter plunk her feathers out,” Hagrid said, “Yeh see the meaning then?”

Draco had already said what he thought. He didn’t know what else it could be.

Hagrid shook his head, “Yeh cannot change who yeh are, and yeh shouldn’t hurt yerself tryin’ to make others happy, to fit what they think you _ought_ to be.”

Draco just stared at him. He’d spent his entire life trying to fit in, trying to be what he was supposed to be, a Slytherin, a pureblood, a _Malfoy_.

Hagrid stood up and took his coat from a hook by the door, “When it comes to people an’ not getting hurt… The way I see it, it hurts either way, doesn’t it? Bein’ alone hurts, an’ tryin’ to get close ter someone’ who pushes yeh away hurts. But if they like yeh, for who yeh truly are, then it’s worth it.”

“I suppose…” Draco said uncertainly

“Ain’t easy ter put yerself out there. I know. I’ve had a lifetime of tryin’, but I wouldna’ trade my friends fer anything.” Hagrid said.

“…I’ve never had to try to make friends before,” Draco said, though the honesty was a struggle, “It feels- it feels so big, like a completely foreign language. Like I was supposed to learn it when I was a child with everyone else, but I missed out.”

“Folks learn differen’ languages all the time. It might be hard but not impossible. Most things aren’t if you put yer mind to ‘em. Jus’ got ter take it one step at a time,” Hagrid said. He patted Draco’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly light and careful from a lifetime of learning how to manage his strength.

Draco nodded, “Thank you. That was very helpful.”

“Yeh don’t have to be so formal with me, yeh know,” Hagrid said.

Draco smiled sourly, “I can’t really trust myself to speak without thinking. Too much of who I was escapes if I don’t watch myself.”

Hagrid grinned, “Looks like yer learnin’ that new language already, eh?”

Draco sighed.

Hagrid chuckled, giving Draco’s shoulder a quick squeeze, “Come on then, let’s get goin’.”

* * *

  
  


  
  


“You see that there?” Pomfrey pointed to a thread of bright blue amidst the purple.

Hermione nodded, her eyes focused on the diagnostic spell shrouding Thomas.

“That blue indicates that something is interfering with Thomas’ normal cellular processes and that narrows it down to a virus or bacteria of some kind,” Pomfrey said.

“That’s… rather vague,” Hermione said carefully, trying desperately to restrain her frustration.

Pomfrey glanced over at her with that small sort of smile that was only very slightly patronising, and drove Hermione absolutely up the wall.

“It may seem that way, but it allows us to rule out a physical injury and that it’s not lycanthropy taking hold, that’s usually a yellow or orange thread of colour and isn’t typically visible until three or four weeks after exposure,” Pomfrey said.

“Because the disease responds to moonlight and therefore grows stronger as the moon waxes,” Hermione said. She had taken up some light side-reading about werewolves after Harry had begun getting fixated about them.

Pomfrey nodded, “You’ll make a wonderful healer one day, Hermione.”

“What next?” Hermione asked.

“Since it’s not something I’m familiar with, I’ll have to put the memory of the tests into a pensieve and go through my diagnostic manuals until I find a match. If I can’t find a match I might be able to find a more fine-tuned diagnostic spell,” Pomfrey said.

Hermione bit her lip to keep her words in. If she made Pomfrey mad, she might not let Hermione help, and she _so_ wanted to help, but _going through books? If they digitised the information and used a search they could find an answer in minutes; instead, they were just going to look through books, and as much as she loved books, it was SO inefficient when who knew_ _how much time they might have-_

“Are you alright, dear?” Pomfrey asked, “Thomas will be fine. The number of maladies that affect the magic community are far fewer than those that affect muggles.”

Hermione forced a tight smile, “I… I’m just worried that we won’t have enough time.”

“A ten to one stasis charm is standard protocol. Unless there is evidence of extremely dire circumstances we can’t increase it,” Pomfrey said.

“Stretching one day into ten is just- what if the virus or bacteria is fast-acting? What if it causes serious harm before we can stop it?” Hermione pressed.

“The longer a stasis spell is, the more difficult it is to remove,” Pomfrey said, as if Hermione didn’t already know that. There were even muggle fairy tales about enchanted sleep. The longer a day was stretched, the more likely it was you would need old magic to wake them up again.

“Madam Pomfrey,” a voice broke into their conversation belonging to one of the girls that were Thomas’ friends. They were both there peeking around the door, “May we see Thomas?” Yasmin asked.

“You may. but I’m afraid he’s going to be sleeping for a while longer,” Pomfrey said.

The two girls hurried inside, standing close together at the side of his bed.

“You see, we think Thomas caught a bug of some kind. We’ll have him healed up in no time, but until then he has so stay asleep,” Pomfrey said.

Imogen looked immediately put out by the information, “How long?”

“Not long, I’m sure,” Pomfrey said.

Yasmin was frowning, she nervously smoothed her short black hair, “If you have to keep him asleep, it must be bad.”

Hermione took a step back, trying to extract herself from the conversation so she could go to the library.

Pomfrey noticed. “Hermione, don’t leave just yet, I’ll lend you some of my books.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she quickly nodded. She wanted those books. But she didn’t particualrly want to mollify a pair of third-years. So she carefully extracted herself when Pomfrey wasn’t paying her any attention and went back to Harry’s bed.

She knew Ron had gone back to the tower to get his beloved lie-in, at least until after lunch when they were going to have to start studying again, but she had expected Malfoy to stay. Or for both of them to leave. Malfoy always struck Hermione as a needy sort of person. But maybe she was wrong? Hermione frowned, sitting on the bed beside Harry’s.

The bed squeaked, and the noise made Harry open his eyes, “Hermione?”

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Hermione asked.

“Resting,” Harry said, sounding bitter.

The bruises that had covered most of Harry’s back had faded to a yellowish shadow occasionally touched by faint reds and purples, “Your back looks better.”

Harry huffed into his pillow.

“….I thought Malfoy would still be here,” Hermione said in as casual a tone as she could manage.

Harry expression said she hadn’t quite managed it.

“Did he go back to the tower without you?” Hermione asked.

That seemed to pull some of the wind out of Harry’s sails as he sighed, pulling his pillow down and resting his chin on it. “No. He went to talk to Hagrid.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“They’re friends,” Harry added sounding bitter or-

“Are you jealous?” Hermione asked.

Harry shot her a glare, “ _No_.”

“You do know Hagrid’s nearly seventy?”

“I know,” Harry muttered.

“And he’s only shown interest in Madam Maxine,” Hermione added.

“ _I know_ ,” Harry said, “and I’m not jealous.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione said, thinking.

“Don’t you ‘hmm’ me,” Harry said.

“You’re in a very snotty mood, aren’t you?” Hermione said.

Harry frowned, pressing himself further into his pillow, “….sorry.”

Hermione nodded, “So perhaps, you’re not jealous of Hagrid, but you are jealous of the time Malfoy is spending with him.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“So?” Hermione pressed.

Harry’s frown grew, “but that makes me seem so petty.”

“You’ve only really dated one person before, and you and Ginny were…”

“More like mates than partners?” Harry said sourly, his words muffled by the pillow, “Ron told me.”

“I was going to say you weren’t together long. You seemed happy enough to me, but it wasn’t my relationship,” Hermione said.

“I was happy,” Harry said.

“I think you need to understand yours and Malfoy’s love languages better,” Hermione said.

“I’m not reading a book,” Harry said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You don’t have to, it’s not that difficult. It’s certainly not something you need to own a book for, once you understand it.”

“You bought it,” Harry said.

“I checked it out at the _library_ ,” Hermione said stiffly, “this summer, to help me better understand Ron. He’s not good with his words, not that most men are.”

“We’re english, we’re not meant to talk about things like that,” Harry said, “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing, it’s helpful,” Hermione countered.

Harry turned his entire face into his pillow. But he hadn’t covered his ears, so Hermione told him anyway.

“There are five different main love languages, words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time and physical touch. The book said that people usually have a primary and secondary love language. Mine are first and foremost words of affirmation and then physical touch.”

“I don’t want to hear about your love life, Mione,” Harry said.

“It’s not- it’s not horny,” Hermione said with a frown.

Harry laughed and actually looked at her rather than trying to smother himself in a pillow.

Hermione crossed her arms, “It’s hugging and holding hands and kissing, showing physical affection. Now if you’re done being puerile.”

“Pure-what?” Harry asked.

“Childish,” Hermione said, and went on, “Ron’s main love language is physical touch and then acts of service. Once I understood how Ron shows his love, it’s much easier to notice and appreciate when he does.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“Your love languages, I would guess, are quality time and acts and service, which is why Malfoy leaving you to do something else is making you feel like a great sulky baby,” Hermione said.

“I am not-”

Hermione held up a finger, “I would, highly, disagree.”

Harry put his face back into the pillow.

Hermione sighed and said, mostly musing to herself, “I would guess Malfoy’s are gifts and words of affirmation.”

“thuer nhois,” Harry said, too garbled to make out.

“What?” Hermione said, “Harry, if you’re going to talk to me, try actually _talking_ to me.”

Harry lifted his face out of the pillow, staring fixedly at the metal bars of the headboard, “they’re not.”

“Uhuh,” Hermione said flatly.

“It’s more…. more touch and quality time, I think,” Harry said, “…could be acts of service…”

“Oh,” Hermione blinked, taken slightly aback as her mind tried to make sense of the new information, “well… the nobility are generally more repressed and private.” It just wasn’t what she had imagined Malfoy to be like, in the least.

Harry sighed, “He’s not- …I think you’d like him if you got knew him. He reminds me of you sometimes, except more annoying …but in a good way.”

“Well, if you stay close to him, I’m sure I will get to know him,” Hermione said diplomatically.

She had trouble conceiving of a Malfoy outside of the one she had known for the first six years of school. But she had decided she would understand him, no matter her doubts. Because he was becoming important to Harry, very quickly; as fast as Harry had latched onto Ron when they were eleven, he seemed to be drawn to Malfoy now. Harry was one of her best friends, she would make it work.

“Here are those books, Hermione,” Pomfrey said, holding out three books, “I always keep a few spare copies for curious students, the library's selection is somewhat lacking.”

Hermione met her halfway and took the books with a grateful smile, “Thank you! I’ll read these right away!”

“If you have time, you have your own studies to worry about,” Pomfrey said with a smile, patting her arm, “And it’s sunday, everyone deserves a break, now and then. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Hermione held onto her smile until Pomfrey was back in her office before letting it turn into a frown. No one seemed to be worrying about this as much Hermione thought they ought to.

Perhaps, she needed to visit Hagrid as well. She could get a more detailed description of the thestral’s decline and maybe test the body. If there wasn’t a spell for it, she’d find a way to get a hospital to do it. She didn’t want anything to happen to Thomas, not if she could do anything to help.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“Well… here’s the thing,” Hagrid said slowly, staring out at the treeline down by the stables, “I thought she’d been attacked that night cause of her leg bleedin’ but knowin’ now that it was a werewolf bite, it coulda been that night or three days before.”

“Three days?” Hermione said, pulling her scarf up to cover her ears.

Hagrid nodded, “I don’t check on the herd as much in the winter, only twice a week or so. They get plenty to eat scavenging off off roadkill, it last ages when it’s cold an’ all. Don’t worry none, I make sure they’re good and disillusioned so even muggles that could see ‘em couldn’t.”

Hermione shivered, her mind conjuring images of shadowy figures running beside cars, shining eyes, and strange, impossible shapes outlined in the darkness….

Hermione shook her head. She was getting distracted.

“Hagrid could you tell me the thestral’s symptoms and if they changed while you were taking care of her?” Hermione asked.

Hagrid tugged absently on his beard, “Hmm… she was listless and weak, once I got her back to the paddock, she got real shivery an’ by the next day she quit eatin' and drinkin'. Day after that, she lay down and jus’ seemed ter give up. Next day I put her down…” he sniffed patting his pockets until he found a grey handkercheif and blew his nose loudly.

“Do you know of any diseases that affect thestrals and humans?” Hermione asked.

Hagrid shook his head and stuffed his handkercheif away.

“What did you do with the body?” Hermione frowned to herself, “Or remains? Is remains better?”

Hagrid gave her a watery smile, “Nice of yeh to think of me.”

Hermione bounced on her heels with barely controlled nervous energy.

“I’ve got to vanish it or burn it to nothin’,” Hagrid said, “Yeh can’t leave anything that a muggle might stumble on. Sorry.”

Hermione deflated, “Oh… so there’s nothing left?”

“ ‘Fraid not,” Hagrid said.

Hermione racked her brain, “….What about the stall the thestral was in? The bandages?”

“Cleaned ‘em up,” Hagrid said and then, kindly added, “but yer free to go take a look, might be somethin’ I missed.”

Hermione nodded, “I will.”

“Draco’s was out that way doin’ his flyin’. Lost track of him so if yeh see him tell to head over my way,” Hagrid said, nodding up the tree line, “I’ll have a look over this way.”

* * *

  
  


  
  


Hermione glanced up as she headed to the stables but quickly forgot about looking for Malfoy. Inside, she found the stall the thestral had been was pristine. She tried a few spells, diagnosis spells tuned to show biological matter, but nothing happened. She sighed and turned to leave when a thought struck her, and she hurried to the cabinet that held Hagrid’s medical potions and salves. She redid the spell and found two bottles and a jar glowed faintly. She used the same diagnostic spell Pomfrey had used on Thomas, and the two bottles were marked by the same thread of bright blue.

Hermione opened her beaded bag, summoning a plastic bag and levitating the two bottles into it. If there wasn’t enough on them to get a sample to test, she’d just have to convince Pomfrey to let her draw some blood. Then she had to contend with the depressing idea that the wizarding world might not have syringes because they believed magic and potions fixed everything.

She closed the stable doors behind her and zipped up her jacket, fussing with her scarf as she walked. Ahead of her, one of the trees along the forest edge shook. Snow showered off its branches and Hermione had taken two more steps before it registered in her mind that it would take something quite large to shake a tree of that size.

She froze, reaching for her wand as she studied the branches, coloured black and white in a patchwork of snow and dark wood. Whatever it was moved again and Hermione was able to make out something hooked and black that at first reminded her of the sharp claw on the wing joint of a thestral, but the wing, if it was one, was too pale, blending with the snow. And even if it was albino or had some other condition that caused a lack of melanin, there was absolutely no reason for a _thestral_ to be in a _tree_.

“….merlin fucking….” a familiar voice cursed.

Hermione’s brow furrowed, “Malfoy?”

All movement in the tree stopped.

“Are you stuck in a tree?” Hermione asked, trying not to laugh.

The white- cloak? moved down so Hermione could see Malfoy’s face, he looked to be very embarrassed. He eventually sighed and answered, “…I suppose I am.”

“Would you like some help?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious to see if he would say yes.

“That depends on how good your is aim with a severing charm,” Malfoy said carefully.

Hermione smiled. It was a clever way of not saying yes and yet still getting help, “What would I be cutting?”

Malfoy nodded to a branch slightly below him, “If this was out of the way, I could drop down and get to the ground.”

Hermione walked over, glancing at Malfoy who seemed to be wrapped up in that strange cloak before looking at the branch. She took a few steps around the tree until she found an angle that would send the charm out and away from Malfoy, “I’m going to cast.”

Malfoy leaned back.

Hermione bit her lip, concentrating hard on the words, diffindo, as she flicked her wrist down and to the right in a sharp slash. She almost thought she hadn’t managed it when the branch creaked and snapped, crashing down to the ground as Hermione hurriedly backed away.

“Nice wordless casting,” Malfoy said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She cleared her throat, “Are you going to come down? I could cast a levitation spell?”

Malfoy grimaced, “No that’s…” he shook his head and said with forced politeness, “I’ll be fine. You could continue on your way if you wished.”

“That’s kind of you, but Harry would be very upset with me if I left and you got hurt,” Hermione said with equal politeness, not exactly lying but also completely unwilling to miss seeing Malfoy struggle his way out of a tree.

“Fine…” Malfoy muttered, moving his cloak.

“So why are you in a tree? Hagrid said you were flying.” Hermione said.

“I was,” Malfoy said.

Strangely Hermione saw Malfoy’s trousers first, like her mind didn’t quite want to focus on his feet, with black claws like eagle talons except that the scaling was white tinged with pink instead of yellow. And while she was thinking that, part of her mind was saying, He meant literally flying, and then coming full circle, she was back to his black trousers and how they didn’t suit the rest of him at all. Adding to the strangeness, Malfoy wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he did have a rather lumpy purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

Malfoy’s feet clutched around the lowest branch, the hook of his- it was a wing in the same colouring because it was the colour of his _skin_ \- the talon on the top of his wing hooked over a branch by his head to lower himself with more fluid grace than the movement deserved.

“Flying is easy. It’s landing that’s quite hard and needed the practice. I suppose I was feeling overconfident and decided to try landing in a tree. It didn’t go well,” Malfoy said, tilting his head as he considered the distance to the ground.

Hermione considered offering to levitate Malfoy down again, but there was a lump caught in her throat that she couldn’t get past.

Malfoy curled a wing talon around the branch he was standing on, and the swung down, his talon letting go on the upward curve of his arc, his wings opening and flapping down once with such speed and force that wind and loose snow whipped against Hermione’s face. Then he landed, easily. His practice had gone well it seemed, at least when trees weren’t involved.

Malfoy tucked his wings up against his chest and watching Hermione with the same sort of expression he had worn to his trial, except with more defiance and a fragile sort of pride.

“Lovely scarf,” Hermione said faintly.

“Hagrid insisted,” Malfoy said. He shifted, lifting one arm to show the thin skin of his wing stretching all the way down his sides, “I can’t wear a shirt, he was worried I would catch cold.”

“Are you? Cold?” Hermione asked haltingly.

“Not when I’m flying,” Malfoy said.

“Would like me- I could cast a warming spell?” Hermione offered.

“I... would appreciate that,” Malfoy said awkwardly.

Hermione reached for her wand and then stopped, “It’s alright, me getting my wand out? I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” Malfoy said.

“You’re sure?” Hermione asked again.

Malfoy nodded. There was the smallest of smirks in the corner of his mouth.

Hermione fumbled her wand out and cast a warming charm as her mind assembled little facts and put them together like pieces of a jigsaw: Malfoy was outside, fully transformed into a creature that could fly, and was resistant to spells. He was a lot stronger than he looked, and he had the equivalent of knives attached to his body. And he had a calming allure that practically sedated Hermione the last time she encountered it.

This wasn’t the tower where Malfoy was trapped, human and outnumbered. He wasn’t afraid of her and had very little reason to. She was the one that should be afraid.

Hermione shuddered, even as she did her best to hide her sudden discomfort.

“I would change back, but then I wouldn’t have the energy to change again,” Malfoy said, almost like an apology, a sideways way of acknowledging her unease. “I still want to try a few more landings before lunch.” He smiled ruefully, “No trees this time.”

“It’s the size,” Hermione said. She took a deep, bracing breath and let it out all at once, “You need a much bigger tree, and you would probably only land on the large lower branches. There’s just too much… density in the upper canopy.”

Malfoy nodded, “Maybe another day.”

“I am a little surprised you’re out here,” Hermione nodded to the grounds.

Malfoy’s brow twitched up, “Are there other places I don’t know about?”

Hermione shook her head, trying to think of a delicate way of putting the question, “You just never struck me as someone who would be comfortable being publicly…”

“Different? Strange? A half-breed?” Malfoy offered, bitterness coating his joking tone.

“Well, yes,” Hermione said.

Malfoy looked down at his feet, talons digging into the snow.

He seemed to be deciding what to say, and Hermione was dreadfully curious, so she waited.

“There are plenty of people who hate me for who I am already, this won’t make it any worse. There’s a good chance it will actually dissuade them from trying to hurt me.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, remembering Harry talking about Malfoy being bullied and feeling a sudden pang of guilt at her past self’s indifference.

“I’m mostly worried about the few I care about,” Malfoy said.

Hermione’s eyebrows slowly rose. Because it was purebloods that cared about half-breeds and half-bloods and impurity more than anyone. And purebloods who had joined Voldemort who believed that more than anyone. And Lucius Malfoy who was, once, one of Voldemort’s most trusted followers.

“But your father loves you,” Hermione said, a note of doubt creeping into her voice.

“Yes,” Malfoy said flatly, pulling his wings tighter around himself, “but does he love me more than legacy?”

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head.

Malfoy shrugged, “I don’t know either.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said.

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and he looked away, flushing faintly with embarrassment, “Never-it’s fine.”

“You sound like Harry,” Hermione said, chiding just a bit. “It’s not fine. It’s okay to be upset about it. Sometimes we need to mourn the things we’ve lost and the things that hurt us so that we can move on.”

“You sound like a mind healer,” Malfoy said, with just a touch of his old taunting tone.

Hermione frowned at him, “I’ve been seeing one.”

Malfoy at least had the decency to look guilty about what he said.

“It’s helpful,” Hermione said.

“I’m- I’m sure it is,” Malfoy said. He shifted his weight and looked around, “Talking to you was… interesting, and rather exhausting, so I hope you don’t mind if I go.”

Hermione lifted her chin “You might as well get used to it if you’re going to stay with Harry.”

Malfoy stared at her and then nodded, “I’ll get used to it.”

“Then I’ll talk to you later, Malfoy,” Hermione said.

“Until we meet again, Granger,” Malfoy said, dipping his head in a faint bow and then crouching down and jumping, wings spreading out in one fluid movement followed by a few hard wingbeats. Hermione closed her eyes against the snow of wind that whipped up around her, and when she opened them, Malfoy was already a pale shape in the distance.

* * *

  
  


  
  



	16. Chapter 16

“Here you are, Draco,” McGonagall said, handing him a small blue porcelain dish filled with floo powder. “I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

Draco nodded, “Thank you.” He watched her go through the doorway connecting to the Headmistress’ office, waiting for her to change her mind or remember who he was, but she didn’t. McGonagall left him alone with an open floo and more than enough floo powder to force a connection he could step through, if he wanted.

Draco took the opportunity to look around. The living area had been set up a reading and tea room. McGonagall must have kept her old professor's apartments for the actual living in because there was no bed that he could see. It was cosy if a little heavy-handed with the tartan.

Draco stared at the fireplace for several seconds before slowly kneeling in front of it. Yesterday he had dragged a mopping Potter out of the hospital wing and spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch talking and teasing one another. That had been a good day. He took a deep breath and a large pinch of floo powder, throwing it into the fire and calling his parents apartments in france.

He saw his mother’s robes first as she stepped into the room and eased the door shut behind her so that it only made the faintest click. She was wearing a pale mint green embroidered with flowers in all sorts of bright colours. Growing up, he had only ever seen her in deep jewel tones. During the war she only wore black, most thought it was in solidarity with the death eaters, Draco thought it was in mourning.

“Draco! I’m so happy to see you, darling. I was hoping you would call today. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since I received your owl,” Mother said.

“Professor McGonagall was kind enough to lend me the school’s floo, we have plenty of time to talk, but I don’t wish to overuse her floo powder,” Draco said.

“Of course,” Mother said, she levitated an ornate pot down from the mantle and threw a handful of floo powder into the fire to re-enforce the connection. “Now are you quite sure you don’t want me to portkey over for the holidays?”

Draco shook his head, “I still have one more fever to go through, and after that, I need to put all my focus on my studies.“

Mother pursed her lips, searching his expression through the flames, “I could come for just a few days, if you wanted. It would be no trouble.”

Because he had never really been sick as a child, the only memory Draco had of his mother dotting on him at his bedside was after the chandelier fell and cut him during the war. He hadn’t needed to stay in bed, it had simply been a way for Mother to keep him away from the death eaters and Voldemort’s wrath for a few precious days. It wasn’t a memory he wanted to revisit, and he didn’t trust his fever addled mind not to dwell on the connection if she was there. “Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine, Mother.”

Mother looked down at her hands and carefully placed one over the other, her expression blank, “Of course.”

Draco winced. Thinking quickly, he said, “I’d like to see you during the spring holiday. Perhaps we could- could see the shore?”

Mother hesitated, “…That sounds lovely. There are some delightful little towns in the south, we could rent a cottage.”

Draco nodded, “Wonderful. So. That’s settled…”

“I’ll owl you your presents,” Mother said.

“You don’t have to-”

“Of course I do,” Mother said, “I love buying you presents.”

“Right,” Draco said awkwardly.

He had never known what to buy. Anything he had ever picked out for his parents had been met with polite thank-yous lacking any sort of real excitement. After a while, he quit trying. Draco gave his mother jewellery, and he bought his father new quills from wherever they were most expensive. It meant nothing. When he was young, he thought it meant the world revolved around him, and only his own enjoyment had value. As he grew older and the world crashed down around his ears, he simply felt that he had never known his parents in any way that really mattered.

And he…he had never really tried to know them.

“Are your robes new?” Draco asked.

Mother looked down, smiling briefly in delight though she quickly tried to hide it, “Oh. Yes. It’s the style here, spring in winter, the embroidery. It’s all rather bright.”

“I like it,” Draco said honestly, “It suits you.”

Mother smiled, and this time she didn’t try to hide it, “Thank you, darling.”

“How are you settling in?” Draco asked.

“Perfectly fine, as I’ve told you,” Mother said.

It was all her letters had told him.

“Have…have you met anyone? You’re close to some of our extended family, other Malfoy’s, aren’t you?” Draco pressed.

“I- we owled announcements of our arrival. The replies were very polite,” Mother said.

“Have you met any of them?” Draco kept pressing.

Mother shifted and then looked over her shoulder at the closed door to make sure she was still alone, “I’ve been to tea a few times. With your aunts-”

Draco shuddered though he tried to hide it, he was certain he had gone pale.

“-well they’re several generations removed since our family moved to england,” Mother corrected hurriedly, “but they would be the same age as- but more like cousins perhaps or great cousins. Yes, great cousins. They’re your great cousins.” She cleared her throat, “but they’ve been hospitable, to me.”

Draco took a deep breath, “…Are they?”

“Oh yes, they’re far more… relaxed about things, a bit like… the Greengrass’s. Daphne is in your year I believe.”

“I know Daphne, and her sister Astoria,” Draco said.

Mother nodded, “The Malfoys here keep out of politics the same way they do. They keep their views private… it’s… it’s-” she glanced over her shoulder again, “it’s been a welcome change.”

Draco looked over her shoulder as well, “Are you okay? Are you-”

“I’m fine! Perfectly fine…” Mother said, her smile a little forced, “Your father hasn’t been invited. They don’t approve of his… politics. So I try not to bring it up around him. He feels they have judged him unfairly.”

Draco just hoped he hadn’t been shouting. Mother didn’t deserve to be shouted at just because she had escaped unmarked and still had a chance at something like a normal life.

“Do you think you might become friends with any of them?” Draco asked.

“Friends…” Mother repeated, looking a bit startled by the idea, “Margot- a great cousin, she has invited me over several times. She’s very kind, if a bit shrill, but I don’t mind. She took me shopping, showed me her favourite tailors,” she smoothed her hands over her robe.

Draco nodded encouragingly.

“Oh, you really should meet her daughter,” Mother added excitedly, “Her name is Eloise, she’s a few years older than you, but I feel you’d be quite compatible.”

“I’m not going to date my cousin,” Draco said bluntly.

Mother tutted at him, “Of course not. You’re hardly related at this point but a Malfoy marrying a Malfoy? People would talk.”

_People would talk_. Draco looked down at his hands, swallowing hard.

“I simply think you’ll get along. Eloise is very acerbic, she reminds me of Pansy. Have you heard from Pansy?”

Draco shook his head, his voice quiet “I haven’t.”

“She’s probably busy with school,” Mother said, “It will be nice to have friends once your probation ends and you can move here, and to make new ones, like Eloise-”

“I’m not planning on moving,” Draco said.

“What?” Mother said faintly. “But- but, darling-” she shook her head, “there nothing there for you.”

Draco would have agreed with her before returning to school, but now he had things- people, worth staying for. He had hope, however fragile and though he loved his mother, he wasn’t willing to move, alone, to be close to her.

He gripped his robes, “And I don’t plan on hiding it.”

“It-?”

“What I am,” Draco said.

Mother’s eyes widened, “Darling, you _can’t_. The way people will treat you- I can’t stand to think of it.”

“Perhaps the sort of people who will hate me for being veela aren’t the sort of people I have any interest in knowing,” Draco said carefully, trying to feel brave and mostly failing.

“I don’t want to see you hurt. All I care about is your well being,” Mother said.

“I _know_. I know that,” Draco said, “but if I hide, they’re still going to hate me underneath it all, and I hate-”

“But if they don’t know, they won’t hurt you,” Mother said.

“I’m a lot harder to hurt now,” Draco said.

“Don’t say that…” Mother said softly, “Draco. Don’t- Say you’ll move here, I think some of the distant family are veela, it’s safe here, it’s quiet here.”

“You think?”

Mother blinked.

“You _think_ some of the distant family are veela,” Draco repeated.

Mother frowned at him, “I’ve heard-”

“Heard what?” Draco asked.

“ _Draco_.”

“Heard, what, Mother?” Draco asked.

“Margot mentioned it,” Mother said.

“What did she say exactly?” Draco asked, his voice tight.

Mother’s face crumpled, and she looked down at her hands, “…she called it the family’s dirty little secret.”

Draco shook his head.

“It’s not such a bad thing, is it? Would I have been better off if everyone knew a-about me?” Mother asked.

“…no. You probably would have been treated very cruelly,” Draco said slowly.

“So you see-”

“But… that you would have been treated badly has nothing to do with you. We are not at fault for how we were born, that is… immutable. It only speaks to the cruelty of others. How people treat others is a choice they make, a choice they can change.” Draco said.

Mother couldn’t look at him as she said, “Change isn’t that easy.”

“I know. I’ve- I’ve been trying- I think it’s worth it,” Draco said haltingly. “All that not changing got us was another war.”

Mother bit her lip, “…don’t say _us_ , it wasn’t your war. It was never your war, my darling boy.”

“It was from the moment the dark mark was branded onto my arm,” Draco said.

Mother sniffed and tried to wipe the tears for her eyes, trying to compose herself even as she was crumbling, “I am so sorry.”

“You’ve already apologised.”

“But I could have done more,” Mother said.

Draco pressed his sleeve over his eyes to blot away his tears before they could fall. He wanted her to stop apologising. He had heard so many of them. They always hurt. There was some part of himself, deep inside himself, that couldn’t fully forgive her. And he hated that he couldn’t forgive her and he was so tired of trying to. He just wished he could let it go, and move on. He wanted to. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. And he knew they never would.

Draco swallowed hard, drying his cheeks on the black fabric of his robe. He sniffed as discreetly as he could and patted his cheeks again to make sure they were dry. When he looked up, Mother was looking to the side, her eyes and the tip of her nose red from crying.

“Do you think-” Draco cleared his throat, “do you think Father will, will he-”

“He will come around,” Mother said firmly.

“Mother-”

“I will make him come around,” Mother said, “After all that he has asked of us, he can manage this.”

“What if he can’t?” Draco asked, sounding small even to himself.

“He will,” Mother said, and Draco knew from her tone that he wouldn’t be able to change her mind.

Draco said carefully, “If… if you ever need to, or want to, you could always come back here. I would be… I would be happy to have you here.”

Mother smiled, looking like she might start crying again, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

She would never leave Father. Draco knew that, but he had to offer.

“I should go,” Mother said, “I have a few errands to run before it gets too late.”

Draco was fairly sure that was a lie, but understood that they both couldn’t take much more of this, “Of course. It was wonderful to speak with you.”

“See if you can firecall around christmas, won’t you darling? Even if it’s only for a few minutes,” Mother said.

“I’ll ask,” Draco said.

They said their goodbyes and Draco closed the floo. He sat there, staring at the soot-black stones at the back of the fireplace for a long time.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“Malfoy?” Harry called.

The main tower room was empty. Harry looked out the window, which was dark, and then back down the stairs he had come from. Malfoy had said he was going to firecall his parents, but he wouldn’t have left it this late.

Harry went up the stairs, sidestepping a collapsing pile of notes and old assignments that were half sorted through. The blankets on the bed were rumpled and had a rather human-shaped sort of lump under them.

“Malfoy?” Harry said.

Malfoy pushed one arm out of his blankets and blindly held it out in Harry’s general direction.

Harry dropped his bag by the chair and took Malfoy’s hand, it felt dry and gripped his hand almost too tightly, “Why are you in bed, it’s only seven?” he asked, pulling the blankets down, which turned Malfoy’s hair into a static mess and earned him a glare.

Malfoy pulled him.

“Wha-careful! I-” Harry caught himself on the edge of the bed with his free hand, “Hold on for a second, would you?”

Harry kicked off his trainers and shoved the sheets back. This was apparently enough waiting for Malfoy, he grabbed the front of Harry’s robe and dragged him down on to the bed.

“You’re a lot stronger than you look,” Harry said.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arm around Harry, his cheek pressing tight to Harry’s chest. Harry tried to carefully smooth the blond white hair back out of Malfoy’s face. Malfoy’s eyes looked redder than normal.

“Did your firecall to your parents- did it go alright?” Harry asked.

“Just my mother,” Malfoy said into the weave of Harry’s jumper.

Harry was probably too relieved at that. He dreaded having to pretend to care about Lucius Malfoy for even a second.

“How was she?” Harry asked.

“Fine,” Malfoy said.

“And you? How are you?”

Malfoy didn’t answer, tilting his head down so Harry couldn’t see his expression, which only made Harry worry more. He hated when Malfoy wouldn’t look at him, it reminded him of a kid flinching away because they expected to be hurt.

“What do I do? How do I help?” Harry asked.

“You are helping,” Malfoy said, a touch of sarcasm to his words, “What do you think this is?”

“Hmmm,” Harry said, with exaggerated thoughtfulness, “a really boring wrestling match?” He wrapped Malfoy up in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze.

“fuck off,” Malfoy said. Harry could hear the smile in his voice.

“Or… we could be hibernating for the winter like bears,” Harry said.

He could feel Malfoy laugh, just a little bit.

“A couple months of sleep would be nice,” Harry said.

Malfoy hummed in agreement.

Harry hesitated and then asked, “Do you want to talk?”

“About?” Malfoy said.

“About what made your eyes red. You don’t have to. But if you wanted, I’d listen,” Harry said.

“Oh, we talk now, do we?” Malfoy said.

“Well, I’d listening. You’d be talking,” Harry said.

Malfoy was quiet for a long time then said, very quietly, “it’s stupid.”

“I’ll listen to that too,” Harry said.

Malfoy smacked him half-heartedly.

“It’s probably not stupid,” Harry amended.

“Probably,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry grinned, “Probably.”

“….okay….” Malfoy said.

He was quiet for so long Harry thought maybe Malfoy had changed his mind.

“I don’t know why I started thinking about it, we talked, it was… fine, but I started thinking about it for some reason, and I couldn’t stop,” Malfoy said, “I just- ….I wanted her to pick me, even once, to put me first.”

Harry could feel a shudder go through Malfoy.

“I know she loves me. But… during the war, if she had said no to my father, then maybe… maybe I could have said no too,” Malfoy said.

“She made Snape take an unbreakable vow to protect you,” Harry said. “And she lied to Voldemort and all the death eaters to get back to you.”

“Because he didn’t know,” Malfoy said.

“Your father?”

Malfoy nodded, “If he had known and told her no, she wouldn’t have disobeyed him.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Harry said.

“She didn’t want me to take the mark,” Malfoy said, “Father said I had to, that our family honour rested on it. Our _honour_.”

Malfoy trembled faintly in his arms, and Harry thought he might be crying. Harry tentatively ran his hand down Malfoy’s back, hoping it was the right thing to do.

“We could have run away at any time. We could have gone- we-” Malfoy broke off and laughed, a broken, painful little laugh, “Except- except that I wouldn’t have run away. I couldn’t say no to him any more than she could. A-and the worst part is- is…”

Harry waited.

Malfoy took a deep breath, “The worst part is… I went along with it… I was proud-” his voice went terribly small, “I was proud to take the mark. I- I didn’t know- I didn’t know-”

“No one knew…” Harry said carefully, “everyone thought I was lying until they saw him themselves.”

“…Father didn’t tell me how much it would hurt. The pain- And I knew V-Voldemort could hurt me with it whenever he wanted and then he gave me the task-” Malfoy spit the word, “all I can remember is how they looked- my parents were so pale, so so pale-” he stopped abruptly.

“…Malfoy?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shuddered again, “I wish I could stop thinking about it- I want to. I want- Why can’t I just forget? Why can’t I move on? I want to be better than this- I want something… normal. Or… something close, something better than this.”

Malfoy’s words seemed to send a shock wave through Harry, his breathing picking up as utter relief washed through him in a voice that sounded like: _me too, I feel like that, it’s not just me-_

“Do you hate me?” Malfoy asked, hardly above a whisper.

“Um..” Harry said still a little distracted, wondering if Malfoy could feel his heart pounding, “No, I don’t. I sort of already knew.”

“oh…” Malfoy said.

“Did you want me to?”

“No, I- no…” Malfoy said.

“I mean if anyone’s going to hate anyone it’d be you, hating me… for what I did.”

Malfoy quickly shook his head, “It was…that was a bad year…”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Malfoy sniffed, “…sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’m listening just like I said,” Harry said.

“No. Because you weren’t a coward. You never ran away,” Malfoy said.

Harry hesitated and then said, “I wanted to,” even though it made his heart race even faster.

Malfoy looked up, his eyes wide, tears caught between his lashes.

“I thought about it sometimes,” Harry admitted.

“Why didn’t you?” Malfoy asked.

Harry sighed, he sometimes forgot that not many people knew about the prophecy. It was too closely connected to the horcruxes, and that was too dangerous a secret to let out.

“There was a prophecy that said I’d be able to kill him for good. Dumbledore seemed to think I was the only one that could do it, so I thought that too,” Harry said, “I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.”

Malfoy managed to wiggle the arm pinned between them free and reached up, brushing his hand over Harry’s jaw. “I think you probably did have a choice, you could have run away,” he said absently.

“I couldn’t leave all my friends, I couldn’t,” Harry said.

“You’re a very good person,” Malfoy said.

“I don’t feel like it,” Harry said. He pulled Malfoy’s hand off his cheek, “I just did what I had to.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“There was- a- it felt like anger in your tone? No, more like resentment. What is it?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged.

“No, tell me. I want to know,” Malfoy said, leaning back so he could get a better look at Harry’s face.

Harry frowned to himself, “Well, it’s- It’s- People call me ‘good’ and ‘a hero’ but I kind of always just felt like they use it as an excuse to be- to be kind of shit. That they don’t have to help people or being kind because they see ‘good’ and ‘hero’ as like built-in, rather than something you do.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything.

Harry tried to backtrack, “I mean, generally, not everyone o’course.”

“To be fair, I never actually tried to be good,” Malfoy said, “And I always thought you were only good because you were a suck-up-”

Harry snorted.

“-and a show-off, and utterly lacking in self-preservation.”

Harry laughed, “That last one might be true.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

Harry knew that they probably should get up and study. They had learned a new spell in charms that Harry had spent ages before dinner learning so he could teach it to Malfoy. But he didn’t move, and neither did Malfoy.

“Something funny happened at lunch,” Harry said.

Malfoy shifted on the bed, using Harry’s arm for a pillow, “What happened?”

Harry absent-mindedly traced Malfoy’s hand with his fingers, telling him about how someone had put something in a pitcher on the hufflepuff table that made it spray pumpkin juice all over the students around it and even onto some of the tables next to it….

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry blinked awake in the dark. His glasses were pressed into his cheek, and he could feel every seam and edge of his jeans digging into him. He couldn’t feel his arm because Malfoy had fallen asleep on it.

He slowly sat up, slipping his arm free as carefully as possible. He tried to rub some warmth back into his arm and had to bite his tongue on all the fucking words he wanted to say as a horrible, painful prickle came along with the returning circulation.

Harry tiptoed to the bathroom, using the loo and brushing his teeth while he was there because his mouth felt like it was in the process of growing a carpet.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a few long seconds, then turned off the light and went back to Malfoy’s bed.

* * *

  
  


  
  


There was a ringing in Harry’s ears, slightly muted and it took far too long for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming, the sound was from the real world, and it was, in fact, his alarm spell.

He cursed under his breath, leaning over the edge of the bed, patting around until he felt his jeans and dragged them over to him. He pulled his wand out of the pocket and dispelled the alarm, immediately awash with relief. When Hermione had taught them the charm in first year, he thought it was a nice sort of bell sound, at least compared to muggle alarm clocks. He was wrong. It could have sounded like a choir of heavenly angels, the fact that it woke him up every morning made him certain there wasn’t a sound he hated more.

Harry grabbed his glasses and pushed them on and then sat there, trying to convince himself to move. It took possibly minutes before he realised something was missing, mainly the delightful early morning grousing of his little chickadee.

Malfoy was laying on his side, turned away from Harry.

Harry frowned. “Malfoy? Are you pretending to be asleep?” he said softly in case he was wrong, and somehow Malfoy had slept through the alarm, and Harry moving around in the bed, and swearing and-

Harry frown grew and he reached over, pressing his hand against Malfoy’s forehead; it was hot.

He shook Malfoy’s shoulder, “Malfoy-” then when he only got a grumble for his trouble, pulled Malfoy over into the middle of the bed, “You have a fever.”

Malfoy glared at him, his breathing was already heavier, his skin flushed pink. “I’d never have noticed,” he muttered grumpily.

“Good morning to you too,” Harry rolled his eyes, “You should probably change and use the loo now before it gets worse.”

“Must have a fever if Potter’s making sense,” Malfoy said.

Malfoy let Harry pull him up and only shook him off when he tried to walk him to the bathroom. Harry refreshed and remade the bed, summoning his pillow from downstairs and adding it to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy finally came out and shuffled his way to the wardrobe and slowly started unbuttoning the wrinkled dress shirt he’d fallen asleep in. He gave up after three buttons and turning to Harry, who finished undoing the rest. Malfoy let the shirt fall onto the ground. Harry found himself staring at those pale scars across Malfoy’s chest, the sickening guilt he had felt the first time he’d seen them had faded somewhat, softened by sadness and the hope that he could make up for it, someday. Malfoy had dropped his trousers as well by the time Harry remembered that Malfoy apparently had no modesty.

Harry quickly turned around, “You could warn me.”

“Then look,” Malfoy said.

“I’m not-” Harry protested.

“I wouldn’t mind you looking,” Malfoy said.

Harry felt his face go hot, “Yeah, well…” he cleared his throat, “I think that sort of thing maybe should be more on purpose.”

“More on purpose…” Malfoy repeated, his voice faint. “I like that.”

Harry felt Malfoy lean against his back.

“Are you dressed?” Harry asked.

“Just shorts,” Malfoy said, “I can’t- can’t manage-”

Harry turned around, catching Malfoy’s hands in his, they were trembling, and Malfoy was breathing even harder than before. Harry grabbed the shirt, his old t-shirt, though he had no desire to reclaim it, and helped Malfoy back to the bed. He pulled the shirt over Malfoy’s head and helped his arms through. As soon as he was dressed, Malfoy collapsed back into the mattress, not even bothering to get his legs back up onto the bed, so Harry did it for him.

Harry started to pull the blankets up, but Malfoy shook his head.

“Alright,” Harry said, dropping them back on the foot of the bed. He went downstairs and made a tray with the toast from breakfast, the tea, juice and a few empty glasses. He came back up and made a cup of tea, too sweet, the way Malfoy wouldn’t admit to liking, filled another with pumpkin juice, and the last with an aguamenti.

Malfoy drank two glasses of water and half a slice of toast before refusing more. Harry refilled the glass with more water as he stood, grabbing his jeans off the floor and shaking them out. He knew he looked like a disaster, but it would have to do until he came back and had time to change.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna-”

Malfoy eyes widened, his voice small, “You’re leaving?”

Harry hesitated, “I need to go tell the house elves to send up soup and that sort of thing and tell Ron and Hermione you’re sick. I’ll come right back.”

Malfoy nodded. He looked stiff, and there was an anxious energy around him that worried Harry.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m fine. I just- you can go,” Malfoy said.

“I told you I wouldn’t lie about where I was going,” Harry said.

“Right,” Malfoy said, “I said I was fine.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He was starting to understand Hermione’s frustration with ‘fine’ when it obviously wasn’t.

“…I’m listening,” Harry tried.

Malfoy looked at him and then away at the wall, and Harry held his breath.

“Do you remember when the veela said I’d know the last fever when it happened?” Malfoy said.

Harry nodded.

“That’s- I read the book, and it listed all the changes that could possibly occur and I’ve had most of them. So… if I’m having a proper fever then it’s the last one, and the book said,” Malfoy took a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he clutched them together, “the book said the last fever is the most painful. That’s what she meant about knowing.”

Harry reached out for Malfoy’s hand, and he met him halfway, gripping Harry’s hand tightly.

Malfoy swallowed hard, “I suppose… I’m- I’m a bit scared. Is all. I don’t like pain.”

“I’ll… stop by Pomfrey’s, get some pain potions, and ask Hermione if there’s anything else we could do,” Harry said.

Malfoy slumped lower against his pillows, looking embarrassed and grateful in equal measure. “I’m just tired.”

Harry wished he could do something more. Even if it was only to say the right thing. He waited, holding Malfoy’s hand until he drifted back to sleep, before tiptoeing out of the tower.

* * *

  
  



	17. Chapter 17

Harry scanned the great hall. Breakfast was nearly over with most of the tables were already half empty, but he spotted Ron’s red hair near the middle of the Gryffindor table and hurried over to them.

Ron waved when he caught sight of Harry, “You’re late!”

“Yeah- I was busy-” Harry said haltingly as he reached them.

Ron grabbed his arm and pulled Harry into the seat next to him, pushing an empty plate in front of him, “You’re looking rough, mate, did you sleep in those clothes?”

“Sort of,” Harry said, he hesitated and then grabbed some toast and making a bacon and egg sandwich. A quick glance around Ron showed that Hermione was writing, her own food mostly forgotten on the plate. Harry doubted she had even noticed him arrive. “Morning, Hermione,” he said.

Ron rolled his eyes as Hermione looked up in surprise.

“Harry! I didn’t see you!” Hermione said.

“Just got here,” Harry said.

Ron had a resigned expression on his face, “She has a new theory.”

“I have a new theo-Hey!” Hermione elbowed Ron with a frown.

Ron just shrugged.

“Is it about the werewolf?” Harry asked.

“I think I know why the werewolf hasn’t died yet,” Hermione said, flipping through her notebook and holding up a page of cramped writing that Harry didn’t even have time to read a single word of before she had it in front of herself again. “I was working out a progression of the illness based on what we know of the thestral’s decline and estimated that the longest it could have survived would have been two weeks. The wolf was showing clear signs of decline when we encountered it and looked half transformed-”

Ron gave Harry a _what can you do?_ look that was entirely too fond.

Harry was just glad he had gone to the kitchens and hospital wing first so he could return to the tower right after this.

“-but that was right before the full moon. My theory is that the werewolf’s body was trying to change back, either because it was getting too weak to maintain the transformation or it was too far away from a full moon, or perhaps a combination the two.  
“Lycanthropy, the disease, reacts to moonlight, growing stronger as the moon waxes- I think maybe lycanthropy is caused by some sort of virus that inserts a strand of RNA into the cells of the afflicted person, basically changing the DNA in all the person’s cells as it spreads-”

“Getting in the weeds a bit,” Ron said.

Hermione blinked and nodded, “Some other time. Where was I?”

“Your theory,” Ron said.

“Theory! Right! So, basically, I think every time the wolf is exposed to the full moon, and it transforms again, it repairs at least some of the damage caused by the illness.” Hermione frowned, “I have to assume that eventually, the transformations won’t be enough to keep the illness at bay. But we can’t know for certain how long the wolf has had it or have anywhere enough data to tell the rate of the werewolf’s decline compared to the thestral.”

“Are the auror’s doing anything about it?” Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged, not nearly as interested in things outside the medical aspect.

Harry turned to Ron, “Have you heard anything?”

“I asked McGonagall first thing this morning,” Ron said, “Apparently they’re scouting the edge of the forest setting up proximity alarms along the boundary and that’s all she knows. They told Hogsmeade and the school to stay closed up for now.”

Harry nodded in relief, one less thing to worry about, at least for the moment. “Has Pomfrey figured out what the illness is?”

Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing against her cheeks, “No. I’ve sent a blood sample to- Well, I sent it to my parents, who are sending it to our veterinarian to be tested. Until then, there isn’t much we can do.”

“To a vet? You’re sending it to a vet?” Harry said.

“Well, I don’t know any doctors very well, but my parents have always had cats. And since the illness infected something like a horse and a sort-of-wolf as well as people, it’s easier. I mean, provided the illness is one of the few that effects muggles as well as wizards.” Hermione said. "Either way it will let us check off some possible illnesses."

“I guess so.” Harry wrapped his sandwich in a napkin and stood up, “I need to get back. Malfoy’s not feeling well, so I won’t be in class.”

“He’s still- I thought he was finished, he seemed fairly done to me,” Hermione said.

Ron gave her a confused look, “What is he a pie?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione said.

“And I, uh, wanted to ask if there was anything else I could do to help him?” Harry asked.

“Like what?” Hermione asked.

“I mean any other tips that you might have forgotten?” Harry asked.

“No?” Hermione said, “I’d have to see him and talk to him to be any more help.” She brightened up, “I could come up and see him!”

“Err…” Harry hesitated.

“Malfoy and I got along fine last time we talked, it will be fine,” Hermione said, “I’ll come up after lunch. Send a patronus if he’d rather me not visit.”

“Alright,” Harry said. He gave them a wave and headed back to the tower, eating as he went.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry washed the crumbs of his sandwich off his hands and grabbed a clean cloth, running it under cold water and then thoroughly ringing it out. He cast a cooling charm on the damp cloth as he went back over to Malfoy’s bed and carefully placed it on Malfoy’s forehead.

Malfoy’s eyes fluttered, and he reached up, touching the cloth before dropping his hand back to the bed with a wince. He opened his eyes just enough to see Harry.

“S’this another dream?” Malfoy said.

“No. I’m back,” Harry said, “Sorry, I forgot the cloth before.”

“Mmm,” Malfoy said.

“Uh, how do you feel?” Harry asked.

“Hot,” Malfoy said.

Harry smiled faintly, “Yeah, that’s how fevers tend to work.”

“Hotter than usual,” Malfoy said.

“Oh.”

“Arse,” Malfoy muttered, closing his eyes again.

Malfoy’s skin did seem almost an angry red rather than the normal flushed pink. There didn’t seem to be as much sweat either.

“Do you want anything to drink? Or eat?” Harry asked.

“Water,” Malfoy said.

Harry helped him sit up and held the glass for him as he took a few sips and then pulled back. Harry eased him back down and picked up the cold cloth setting it back in place.

“Hermione wants to come check on you, if that’s alright,” Harry said, “She said she can’t really help without seeing you.”

“…fine,” Malfoy said faintly.

“Do you need-”

"It’s enough. You’ve done enough,” Malfoy said.

“I just want to help,” Harry said.

Malfoy slid his hand across the sheets, “Then hold this.”

Harry loosely placing his hand over Malfoy’s, giving it a quick squeeze.

“You’re cold…” Malfoy said.

Malfoy’s palm was almost uncomfortably warm.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry slowly brushed his thumb back and forth across Malfoy’s knuckles, his hand loose with sleep on the crumpled sheets. His skin was so red. His breathing heavy like his body was running a marathon even when it was still.

Harry pushed his free hand through his hair, catching on the tangles and curls and let out a frustrated sigh. Sometimes he almost hated it. But… after the war it seemed like everything went back to normal, or tried. He did too, even without realising it. Old clothes worn thin from camping got thrown out, wounds healed, scars faded and were hidden from sight. Even his body went back to something like normal, going back to a healthy weight, his skin tanning from its strange camping pallor. All that was left was his hair. 

He felt changed. He _was_ changed by the war, by everything. It didn’t feel right to cut it off. 

And his hair actually hadn’t been bothering him as much lately, not when Malfoy would comb through it. He got the tangles out and it felt really nice. Harry wondered if he’d do other things, like when Ginny or Luna would braid it or put it in a bun. Over the summer, Luna had gotten into a habit of braiding flowers into Ginny’s hair, daisies and dandelions and tiny delicate flowers in blue and white, that Harry could imagine in Malfoy’s clever fingers…

“Someone’s here,” Malfoy said faintly.

Harry sat up with a start, “O-Oh, that must be Hermione. You still okay to see her?”

Malfoy nodded. He held onto Harry’s hand for a moment, “That expression you had, you have to tell me about it later.”

Harry felt an instant flare of embarrassment, “Oh, uh, it was nothing.”

Malfoy grinned, “No, it wasn’t. Promise you’ll tell me.”

Harry shook his head, “It really was-”

“I’m sick, you can’t say no,” Malfoy said, adding a melodramatic whine to his voice, “Promise.”

Harry hesitated, “…I’ll promise if you promise not to give me shit about it.”

“Deal,” Malfoy said without hesitation, “I promise.”

Harry sighed, “Fine, I’ll tell you later.”

“Promise?” Malfoy insisted.

“Yes-”

“Harry, are you here?” he heard Hermione call from downstairs.

“-I promise,” Harry said over his shoulder, going down the stairs.

Hermione was leaning against the wall, looking a bit winded, “Those stairs are horrible.”

“You get used to them,” Harry said.

“How’s he doing?” Hermione asked.

“Trying to sleep mostly,” Harry said, “He… uh, hasn’t been eating or drinking much, at least compared to last time.”

Hermione nodded and headed upstairs, Harry right behind her, and sat on the edge of the chair, “Hello, Malfoy, how are you?”

“Brilliant,” Malfoy joked weakly.

“Try again,” Hermione said, “I don’t have a lot of time, you know. I’m the one taking notes for all of us, it’s not very useful if I’m not in class to take them.”

“Yes, fine…” Malfoy swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he spoke, “The changes, they started from the inside and worked their way out.”

Hermione blinked, leaning forward with a lot more interest.

“My magic was first, then muscles, then my bones,” Malfoy said. "Now, it's my skin."

Hermione nodded along, “That makes sense, it improves your chances of survival in a hostile environment and then to allows you to fly and then the last, pure vanity.”

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, “I don’t _want_ it. I wouldn’t have chosen this- any of it.”

Hermione sat back a bit, “Oh. Right. I didn’t- I meant more like a birds plumage, for courtship or camouflage-”

Harry could tell Hermione wasn’t helping her case and leaned between them to cut things off, taking the damp cloth from Malfoy’s forehead, which had almost completely dried out, to the sink. When he came back out Hermione was casting some sort of spell over Malfoy that showed a blanket of reds and oranges over his body with only a few touches of yellow. It was like a heat map Harry had seen somewhere, maybe a school book or on the tv.

Harry stood behind the chair, trying to see what she was seeing. It mostly looked red, and Harry was fairly certain that wasn’t a good thing. Hermione tilted her head and then twisted her wand like turning a nob, the colours shifting, narrowing and drawing closer to Malfoy, the reds mostly turning to yellows.

“It really is just your skin…” Hermione said, “Your body is doing a good job of keeping your internal temperature at- at a somewhat healthier level. The skin replaces itself fairly regularly, but over weeks, not in a day-”

“More like a day and a half, maybe two,” Harry said.

“It’s the largest organ in our body, did you know?-” Hermione started.

“Hermione, Is there anything we can _do_?” Harry interrupted before she could get too distracted. He carefully put the damp cloth on Malfoy’s forehead before taking a step back.

Hermione blinked, giving him a brief frown before she got on with it, “This isn’t a true fever, the sort caused by an illness, so you don’t have to worry about it cooking your organs, your magic should keep your temperature within a survivable limit.”

Despite her non-nonchalance, Harry felt somehow more worried about the fact that that might have even been a possibility.

“Your skin is basically regrowing itself, which mean a lot of cells dying and being replaced all at once. Your skin will be very irritated and tender, like a sunburn, and you’re going to need a lot of calories, a lot of energy to keep up with the changes.”

Harry hurried back to the bathroom, grabbing Malfoy’s bottles of nutrient and strengthening potion. Hermione took them from Harry before he could set them back on the table.

“These are good. How much are you taking?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy winced and didn’t answer.

“About a swallow,” Harry said.

Hermione’s disapproving frown told them that that was the wrong answer. She vanished Malfoy’s unfinished juice and transfigured the glass down to the size of a biggish shot glass and held it up to both of them, her tone stern, “This much of each potion, twice a day, twelve hours apart. Understand?”

Harry nodded.

Malfoy pushed his lip out in a pout.

“Other than that, the most important thing is to get enough fluids. You lose a lot of liquids during a fever, and people don’t tend to drink enough when they don’t feel well,” Hermione said.

Harry felt a sinking disappointment in his gut. He had been hoping to do something more, but Hermione hadn’t told them anything more than they had known before.

Hermione stood up, “I ought to get going, so I don’t miss class.”

“…Yeah, thanks for having a look,” Harry said.

Hermione patted his arm with a smile, “I might have a few other things that might help, but I have to send a few owls first.”

“That’d be great,” Harry said, not getting his hopes up.

Hermione turned back to Malfoy, “I hope this is a short fever for your sake Malfoy. I look forward to seeing you back in class. We could study together since we have the same classes.”

Malfoy nodded.

Harry walked Hermione back down to the stairs before returning to Malfoy.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“You promised,” Malfoy said before Harry had even got up the stairs.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, “Do you want any water? You should take the potions too.”

“No,” Malfoy said, opening his eyes, “I want to know, and you promised.”

“I will. …Drink some water and your potions, and I’ll tell you,” Harry said.

“If I don’t know, I’ll die,” Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Hermione was just here. I know you’re not going to die.”

Malfoy glared at him and then begrudgingly allowed himself to be helped up, wincing at every movement, with a grumbled, “I’m the one in slytherin, not you.”

Harry waited until Malfoy drank everything down, making faces the whole time, then helped him back down. Harry’s hand slipped over his side, pulling the fabric as he moved, eliciting a hiss of pain from Malfoy.

“Sorry,” Harry said, quickly pulling back.

“It doesn’t matter,” Malfoy said.

“It does-”

“ _Everything_ hurts, the sheets, my clothes, my fucking _hair_ hurts,” Malfoy said, “I just don’t want to think about it. Tell me, so I can think about something else.”

Harry nodded. If Malfoy had told him that first, he probably wouldn’t have held out on the water but he knew better than to let Malfoy know that, he’d almost certainly use it to his advantage whenever possible.

“I was thinking about how I like it when you comb out my hair and that maybe you might braid it or put it into a bun for me the way Luna does sometimes,” Harry said.

“I’ve never braided hair before,” Malfoy said, “I sort of know how to braid, Greg showed me once with grass, and I would braid it all the time when we were outside, and I was bored.”

Harry frowned, “Never hair? Like Pansy’s? Or, both your mother and father have long hair, you never braided any of them?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened at the thought and let out a laugh that made him wince.

“What?” Harry said.

“I wouldn’t- I could never- It’s so- so _personal_. There are all sorts of charms for that sort of thing,” Malfoy said.

“Girls do it all the time,” Harry said.

“Not in Slytherin,” Malfoy said.

Malfoy’s sudden apology for touching Harry’s hair that first time made a lot more sense now.

“I want to try,” Malfoy said.

“What?” Harry said.

“I want to braid your hair. Help me onto my side and move the chair closer,” Malfoy said.

Harry almost missed back when Malfoy didn’t ask for anything. Almost. Or not really much at all.

Harry helped Malfoy roll onto his side, even as he flinched from the pain, and pushed the chair closer. Harry folded his arms on the mattress and rested his cheek on them. Malfoy picked out a small lock of hair, more careful than usual, his fingers trembling as he slowing wove Harry’s hair together in a loose messy little braid.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco slowly finished braiding a thin little braid, twisting the hair together between his fingertips. It held together remarkably well, perhaps because of Potter’s natural curl.

Potter himself had dozed off. His glasses were half pushed up his forehead, and it looked like he was drooling into his own sleeve. It seemed fairly horrid that Draco found that endearing.

Draco unconsciously tried to move his arm because it hurt and had to bite his tongue on the jolt of pain that came with it. Everywhere his skin was pressing into the sheets felt as if he were laying on sandpaper with a sunburn except it was worse than any sunburn he had ever had. Maybe. He certainly got sunburns, his skin always burned very easily, but he had had creams and potions to fix the pain almost as soon as it had made itself known. He had no tolerance for pain, and it was something he was really starting to resent in himself.

His eyes hurt. It felt like when he was exhausted, and there was an aching line of pain ran along his eyelids, except in those cases closing them made the pain go away. He knew better than to try to rub them. His own skin felt rough against itself and his eyelashes hurt when they were so much as jostled.

Draco blinked, trying to focus on what was in front of him rather than the pain.

He looked over the three small braids he had managed. The first was loose and sloppy and had already come undone about a third of the way up. Draco took it in his fingers and began combing the braid out so he could try again.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“Potter.”

“Unhh?” Harry muttered incoherently.

“Someone’s coming up the tower,” Malfoy said, “Maybe Weasley.”

Harry sat up abruptly, “ _Ron_? Really, Ron?”

“As opposed to someone else who just happens to have nearly the exact same magic signature?” Malfoy said irritably.

Harry nodded. “Okay… Uh… I’ll go check what he wants.”

Malfoy just closed his eyes.

Harry shuffled down the stairs as Ron came up the last few.

“Hey! How’s it going?” Ron said with an easy grin. He hooked an arm around Harry’s neck and gave him a hug before Harry could even think to say anything.

“H-hey,” Harry said, “What-”

“Nice braids,” Ron said, “Bill puts beads ‘n feathers in his. It’s pretty cool, but that’s Bill for you.”

Harry turned his head, catching sight of a few small braids near his temple. He grabbed one and ran it through his fingers. It looked perfect to him.

Ron cleared his throat, “I brought you some things.”

Harry blinked, refocusing on Ron.

Ron turned around, grabbing a basket that had been placidly floating in air behind him. He carried it to the table, still half taken up with Malfoy’s untouched lunch. The preservation charms would keep it perfect for days so it probably wouldn’t be replaced until Malfoy either ate it or didn’t need it. There was a fresh dinner tray for Harry, though, and his stomach growled loudly at the reminder of food.

Ron laughed, “Bit peckish?”

“Didn’t eat much for lunch,” Harry said, “I was distracted.”

“Distracted by Malfoy being an arse or _by_ Malfoy’s arse?” Ron teased.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Ha. Ha.”

Ron laughed again, flipping the top open on the basket and fishing around inside, “First, there’s this.” He handed Harry a jar of dark greenish goo.

Harry turned it in his hands, reading the label, “…Bitterroot balm?”

“And the instructions,” Ron said, handing him a folded piece of paper, “Hermione said you have to read that first before the lid will even come off.”

“Of course,” Harry said, “Very… Hermione of her.”

Ron nodded. He reached into the basket with both hands, “And now, a chef Ron Weasley first,” he lifted out a glass bowl filled with brightly coloured shapes in blue, red, yellow, and orange that caught the light and jiggled as Ron moved.

“Jellies?” Harry said in confusion.

“Yeah, called jello, or that was what was on the boxes. Hermione said her dad would make it for her when she was sick as a kid. Said it’s a good way to sneak hydration to sick kids without them knowing.” Ron set the bowl of the table with a proud grin. “I asked to take care of it. Mostly cause Hermione’s busy enough as it is, but I figured it was as good a place as any to start learning how to cook. The elves talked me through it, but I did it all myself.”

Harry smiled hugely, he couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to, “Looks great.”

“Super sweet, but tasty,” Ron went on, “My favourite’s the blue, I’m not sure what a blue raspberry’s meant to be, but it tastes really good. Must be a muggle thing- What?” he stopped, looking perplexed at Harry’s expression.

“Thanks for helping.”

Ron beamed and pulled him into another one-armed hug, squeezing a little too hard, so Harry had to laugh and shove him off.

“Thanks for letting us help,” Ron said, he shoved his hands in pockets, looking off the side, a bit embarrassed, “We’re all best friends, us three, we’ve got to stick together. Look out for one another.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah… yeah, we do.”

“And don’t you forget or we’ll have to bug you all over again until you remember,” Ron said, trying to sound stern.

Harry laughed, “I won’t.”

“I better get back before Hermione pulls out the flashcards,” Ron said, heading towards the stairs. He flashed Harry a cheeky grin before heading down, “Have fun playing nursemaid!”

Harry rolled his eyes and shouted after him, “Have fun studying!” He grinned at the groan of dismay echoing up the stairs.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry quickly ate dinner and took the bowl upstairs. Malfoy still had his eyes closed but the pinch between his eyes said he wasn’t asleep.

“Dinner’s here, do you want anything?” Harry asked.

Malfoy started to shake his head, then stopped himself, “No.”

“What about some water?” Harry said.

“I don’t want to move,” Malfoy said.

“You need to-”

“Not for food, not for water, nothing,” Malfoy muttered.

He sounded angry. Harry supposed that made sense, being powerless felt that way sometimes. Even if it wasn’t entirely true, Malfoy had moved for him.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, placing the bowl of jello between them, “What about for something new? How would you know you don’t want to move for it if you’ve never had it before?”

Malfoy sighed and begrudgingly opened his eyes, then blinked, studying the bowl, “What sort of cursed rainbow vomit concoction is that?”

“Have you ever had jelly? My aunt would make rose and violet flavoured ones,” Harry said, “Once she made one filled with fruit. They looked nice, but they always tasted a bit shit.”

“Mother liked to have them at dinner parties, they looked pretty, but no one ever ate them, not when there was cake,” Malfoy said.

“This is like them but actually good,” Harry said. He hadn’t actually tried one, but he trusted Ron when it came to food. He picked up an orange piece that had been cut into a circle and popped it into his mouth. It was very sweet and tasted strongly of what oranges wished they tasted like. “Guess I’ll have to eat them all myself.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “That’s not going to work, I’m not five.”

“Alright,” Harry said. He had to wonder if the shapes were Ron’s idea or the house elves. He tried a blue one next, cut into a square.

“Why in the world is it blue?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged.

“Blue isn’t a flavour,” Malfoy said.

Harry gave him a blank look.

Malfoy frowned at him and then held out a hand, which Harry took, holding still as Malfoy leveraged himself up into a sitting position. They sat side by side, as close as two people could without actually touching.

“Arsehole,” Malfoy said under his breath.

“Which do you want to try first?” Harry asked.

“Am I meant to eat it with my fingers?” Malfoy said with a frown somewhere between haughty and pouty.

“It’s easier that way,” Harry said.

“I said, I don’t want to touch anything,” Malfoy said, shifting entirely to pouting.

Harry hesitated and then picked up a red heart and held it out. He imagined from Malfoy’s expression that he would be blushing if it were possible for him to be any redder. He didn’t actually expect Malfoy to lean forward take it from him with his mouth, almost dropping it and slurping it up loudly and awkwardly, and quickly turning away in embarrassment.

Harry snorted and did his best to hide it in a cough.

“It’s strawberry,” Malfoy said.

“It- I- What?” Harry said.

Malfoy turned back to look at him, “It tastes of-” he took a breath, his face twitching for what had to be a hundred suppressed expressions that burst into tiny, helpless little giggles, as Malfoy tried to keep from laughing too hard.

Harry had to laugh too, not because of the jello, but because Malfoy was strange and adorable, and there was something about his laugh in that moment that made Harry want to remember it forever.

“S-so stupid-” Malfoy said between giggles.

“A bit,” Harry said fondly.

Malfoy took a few breaths, at first interrupted by bubbles of laughter, then managed to calm himself down. He looked at Harry, his expression relaxing as he studied Harry’s face, “Not now…” Malfoy said in exasperation, “You have the worst timing.”

“What?” Harry said.

“Of all the times to want to kiss, now is without a doubt the worst one,” Malfoy said

Harry’s mouth fell open, his cheeks feeling hot, “I- Do I?”

Malfoy frowned at him, “The way you were looking-” he glanced away, embarrassed again, “It just looked like- maybe…”

“Oh,” Harry said, “I suppose it might. …It’s just, I’ve wanted to kiss you before, I didn’t think it showed.”

Malfoy’s expression went very still and then he sighed hugely.

“What?”

Malfoy gave him a look, “Blushing stings, you know.”

Harry shook his head, “Sorry.”

“First the confession, now this,” Malfoy went on, “Why do you always insist on picking the worst times for everything.”

“I’ve always had rotten luck,” Harry said, “I mean, look at my life.”

“Fair point,” Malfoy conceded. He gingerly reached into the bowl and picked out a yellow star, holding it with just two fingers even as it threatened to slip from his grasp. He nodded as he ate, “I quite like that one.”

Harry found another yellow and tried it. It was lemon.

“I like sweets with a bit of tartness,” Malfoy said, his voice having grown softer. “Raspberries and green apples and lemons…”

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded, “I think I used up too much energy.” he gave one of the blue shapes a suspicious look before he tried it, “…that’s just raspberry, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugged but after eating one himself he had to agree.

“Why is it blue? I was hoping for something strange, not raspberry,” Malfoy said.

“You said you liked raspberry,” Harry said.

“Well, yes, but it’s _blue_. It ought to be something different, or be blueberry, seeing as that’s actually blue,” Malfoy said.

“I think they look purple, especially after they’ve been cooked,” Harry said.

“I suppose if you insist on being an exasperating contrarian about things,” Malfoy said.

“Might as well. It’s more fun,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s expression did not agree.

Harry ate a few more of the fruity shapes but was happy to let Malfoy have the rest.

“Why didn’t you? If you wanted to before…kiss me,” Malfoy said haltingly.

“Because you’re sick and it’s just me here… I don’t want to stockholm syndrome you-”

“What? What does the capital of Sweden have to do with this?” Malfoy said.

Harry hesitated, “It’s like… you’re kind of alone and vulnerable and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“How noble of you,” Malfoy said flatly.

“And I don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t like, so I thought it would be best to let you do- what you wanted,” Harry said, hoping he had covered everything.

“So what you’re saying is… I’m in charge of this relationship,” Malfoy said slowly.

“Uhh, sort of? Until you’re better and not stuck here, at least,” Harry said.

“That is a terrible idea. I am not the brave one here,” Malfoy said, pointing between them.

“You’ve been a bit brave a couple times. I was there. I saw it,” Harry said.

Malfoy grimaced, “Yes, but I also thought I was going to die slowly and horribly at the hands of a madman. I don’t have that level of motivation any more, thank merlin.”

“Yeah well… you are a bit selfish, that’s sort of similar,” Harry said.

Malfoy glared at him, “I’d hit you it wouldn’t hurt me more than you. Selfish isn’t a compliment.”

“I don’t know. Not being selfish can be bad too, you end up doing things for other people that maybe you shouldn’t-”

“And being too self-sacrificing,” Malfoy said, “I see your point.” He peeled the last orange circle sticking to the side of the bowl and held it out to Harry.

“You can have it-” Harry started to protest.

“This is revenge,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly.

Harry rolled his eyes and obligingly leaned forward. Malfoy let go of the jello almost immediately, and Harry had to suck it up quickly to keep it from falling out of his mouth, making a horrible slurping noise in the process.

“You looked so stupid,” Malfoy said with a delighted smile.

“Thanks so much,” Harry said sarcastically, setting the bowl into the chair.

Malfoy fought down a yawn, “…I suppose I should sleep… I just, I don’t know if I can.”

“What about a dreamless sleep potion?” Harry said.

Malfoy nodded, “Tried it. I could only sleep three or four hours before it wore off-” he trailed off.

“That’s better than nothing-”

“…but that was before you were here,” Malfoy said, “It might work now, with you. You can’t leave though.”

“I won’t,” Harry said, “promise.”

“I should still have one or two in my potions cabinet,”

“Alright, let’s try it then,” Harry said, getting to his feet to help Malfoy get ready for bed.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry watched Malfoy sleep, his face finally relaxed for the first time that day. Shivers would occasionally race over his body, his fingers twitched with discomfort, but the potion would make sure he didn’t feel it, hopefully for the whole night.

Harry sat back in the chair beside the bed. He pulled his blanket from downstairs around his shoulders as he looked at the jar of balm and instructions Hermione had sent. He unfolded the paper, reading over it several times to make sure he understood it before setting them on the bedside table.

At least it gave him an idea of what to do tomorrow. And by the end of the day, this would be over with.

* * *

  
  


  
  



	18. Chapter 18

  
  


“You okay?” Harry asked as the bathroom door swung open.

“Do I look okay?” Malfoy muttered.

Harry didn’t take it personally, Malfoy was a little shit in the morning anyway, the fever just made it a bit worse.

“You just took a while is all,” Harry said, walking beside Malfoy as he slowly made his way back to bed. He held out a hand that Malfoy could grab or that Harry could catch Malfoy if he fell.

“I couldn’t decide what would hurt more, holding it or sitting on the seat,” Malfoy said bitterly, sinking down on the edge of the mattress.

“Holding-” Harry stopped himself as realisation dawned, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t need to know that.”

“Don’t ask next time then,” Malfoy said.

“Wait. Before you lay down…” Harry said before Malfoy could move.

Malfoy glared at him with all the stinging vitriol of a kicked puppy.

“You need to take your potions first,” Harry said, unstoppering the first bottle and filling up the little glass.

“Don’t want to.”

Harry held out the glass, “You won’t have enough energy-”

“For what? Convalescing?”

“For taking a bath,” Harry said.

Malfoy stared at him blankly.

“Hermione sent bitterroot balm, it was used for burns and skin abrasions before Benson’s Curative Salve was invented. She says it acts as a barrier and soothes so she thought it might work for you” Harry picked up the jar and unscrewed the lid of the thick green goo, “I’m supposed to put a little on your skin to see if it works first and make sure you don’t have an allergic reaction.”

Malfoy held out his arm without prompting, and Harry wiped a dab of the balm off onto his skin.

“How does it feel?” Harry asked.

“…It didn’t hurt when you put it on,” Malfoy said, staring at his arm.

“Tell me if it starts bothering you, and I’ll wipe it off,” Harry said. He swapped the jar for the glass of nutrient potion, “Here.”

Malfoy turned his head away like a little kid.

Harry sighed, “Come on, Malfoy.”

“What does that horrible potion have to do with a bath, and what does a bath have to do with bitterroot balm?” Malfoy asked.

“There isn’t enough balm to cover you, and it doesn’t work if it dries out so Hermione thought dissolving it in a bath would be the best way to use it. As for the potions, I’d rather you didn’t drown in six inches of water-”

“How sweet,” Malfoy said flatly.

“So you should probably have enough strength to get out if you need to,” Harry finished and held up the potion again, “I made you some tea to wash the taste away so just take it.”

Malfoy reluctantly took the glass from Harry. He took the potion like a shot and held it out for Harry to refill it with the strengthening potion which he took just a quickly, grimacing as he swallowed. Harry swapped the shot glass for a cup of tea, too sweet and left to cool until it was only very slightly hot.

“Better?” Harry said.

Malfoy stuck his tongue out at him.

“Delightful,” Harry said. “Do you want to try the bath?”

Malfoy nodded, sipping at his tea.

“Alright I’ll be right back,” Harry said, grabbing the jar of balm.

“Make it cold. As cold as you can make it,” Malfoy called after him.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“Is it cold?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up from where he was kneeling beside the heavy cast-iron claw-foot bathtub, one hand in the water the other on the knobs as he adjusted the temperature, “I said I’d be right back.”

Malfoy shrugged faintly and then winced. “What does it matter if I wait here or out there?”

“Standing takes more energy than sitting,” Harry said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

Harry started adding globs of bitterroot balm, swishing his hand through the water to dissolve it and turning the water a murky green colour.

Malfoy put his fingers in the water with a frown, “That’s not cold at all.”

“It’s lukewarm,” Harry said, “Hermione said cold water might make you shiver, and the last thing you need is your body trying to warm you up right now.”

“Fine,” Malfoy huffed. He grabbed the bottom of his tee-shirt and pulled it over his head in one quick moment, swearing viscously under his breath as he did. He dipped his foot in the water, then stepped into the tub.

“You’re, um, still wearing-”

Malfoy looked down at plain black boxers of Harry’s that he was still wearing, hanging loose on his hips, “If I take them off, you’ll leave.”

“I was sort of thinking you could manage laying in a bathtub on your own regardless,” Harry said.

“What if I drown?” Malfoy said.

“You’re not going to drown,” Harry said.

“I could drown on purpose to make you feel bad,” Malfoy said, bracing his hands on the side of the bath and lowering himself into the water.

“You don’t like getting hurt, so I doubt it,” Harry said.

Malfoy frowned at him, “I might get hurt if I thought it was worth it.”

“Oh, and this is worth it?” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Malfoy said. “Will you stay anyway? I’ll be bored otherwise.”

“Is it working? How do you feel?” Harry asked since he hadn’t intended on leaving unless Malfoy wanted him to.

“Like I’ve been turned into a soup,” Malfoy said.

Harry almost smiled. He had to stop himself, “Come on, Malfoy.”

“There’s less pain where the water is. It doesn’t hurt to touch the bath but the shorts are still a little rough. And I’m unbearably hot, thus soup.”

“You’re more swamp than soup,” Harry said. He transfigured to the empty jar into a large plastic cup, filling it up and pouring it over Malfoy’s shoulders.

“Rude. …If I were a soup, I’d be something classy, like minestrone or a nice gazpacho… maybe a french onion soup,” Malfoy said absently, his eyes closed, “Pour it over my head?”

“I probably shouldn’t get it in your eyes,” Harry said.

Malfoy tilted his head back, “Then don’t.”

Harry poured it over Malfoy’s hair where it clung like a thin film of jelly, tinting Malfoy yellow-white hair a greenish-yellow, “Like this?”

“Again, please,” Malfoy said, “Here’s the real question, what sort of soup would you be?”

“You must be feeling better if you have the energy to be ridiculous,” Harry said, refilling the cup.

“It’s not ridiculous it’s- it’s interesting,” Malfoy said. He patted his cheeks with his wet hands, tracing around his eyes and up to his forehead.

“Well, I like soup with a lot of potato in,” Harry said.

Malfoy sighed, “This isn’t about what you like to eat. It’s about what soup embodies your soul.” He stretched his hand up as if imploring to the heavens.

Harry snorted, “Maybe potato embodies my soul.”

“You would be a rustic soup,” Malfoy said.

“Isn’t rustic just a fancy way of saying poor?” Harry asked.

“No,” Malfoy said with a huff, slipping down further in the water, his knees poking out, “It’s to refer to the sort of goings and doings of country folk.”

“Goings and doing? So everything then?” Harry said.

“I think you’d be a beef stew,” Malfoy said.

“Ah,” Harry said, “So you’re saying I’m a cow then.”

Malfoy flicked his hand at Harry, spraying him with murky green water as Harry laughed.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“Isn’t there a soup made with seaweed?” Potter said.

Draco looked over to where Potter was sitting against the side of the bathtub, “Why are you talking about soup?”

“We talked about it earlier,” Potter said.

“Hours ago,” Draco said. He held his hands up, his fingertips wrinkled and pruney from sitting in the water, but he didn’t want to get out, not until the fever broke. Being slimy was horrible, but it was better than everything he touched hurting so much he could hardly stand it.

“Miso soup?” Potter said.

“Miso soup is made with miso, you dolt,” Draco said absently.

“But it has seaweed in it sometimes, doesn’t it, you rude little shit,” Potter said, glancing over at him.

“Sometimes. Why are you obsessing about seaweed in soup?”

“It smells like seaweed in here, don’t you think?” Potter asked.

Draco frowned and sniffed at the air and then, far more cautiously, at his hand and recoiling with a face that made Potter laugh.

“It smells awful is what it smells like,” Draco said.

“The ocean always smells awful,” Potter said.

Draco sighed, “When the tide is low, I suppose. But weren’t we being preoccupied with soup again?”

“Oh, right,” Potter said, and then there was a sound, a stomach grumbling, gurgle that might have normally been very quiet but echoed around the tiled room. Potter laughed, “I guess that’s why I was thinking about soup again.”

“Did you eat this morning?” Draco asked.

Potter shrugged, “I guess not. I just got carried away with things.”

“Go eat,” Draco said.

“What about your being bored?” Potter said.

“I’ve survived it before.”

Potter tilted his head up to look at Draco somewhat upside down, “Have you?”

“I have,” Draco said confidently.

“Hard to believe,” Potter said.

“ _Go eat_ ,” Draco said more firmly, “I’ll be fine. You said it yourself, I’m not going to drown in six inches of water. You’ll literally be right below me if I need anything.”

Potter pushed himself to his feet and stretched his arms above his head with a groan that Draco watched with all due appreciation.

“You sure?” Potter asked.

“Of course,” Draco said.

“You want anything from the food tray?” Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes, “What, like the _soup_? No.”

Potter grinned faintly, “Alright.”

“Bring some water back with you,” Draco said, “ _Cold_ water.”

“I could get it now.”

Draco shook his head, “After is fine,” he waved Potter off, “Go on. The last thing I want to do is sit here listening to your stomach gurgling ominously like some sort of unattended cauldron.”

Potter touched his forelock with a cocky grin and went downstairs, leaving the bathroom door open, presumably so he could hear if Draco shouted.

Draco crossed his arms on the edge of the bath, water dripping onto the floor in soft plips. He rested his cheek on one damp arm. The metal under his skin was warm. It felt like he was single-handedly keeping the water and cast iron bath heated even after hours. His head felt too heavy on his shoulders. He missed Potter already.

He spread his fingers again, studying his wrinkled pruny fingers, brushing his thumb over one fingertip. A bead of skin rolled with the touch, thin and loose like a peeling sunburn.

Draco’s eyes widened. The skin underneath was sensitive, like the delicate skin on his wrist, but not painful. He sat up, running his hands over one another, little balls and rolls of dead skin gathering in his palm that he quickly washed off in the water. He experimentally slid his hands over his legs, with the same result. Most importantly. It didn’t hurt. His skin was still a little warm but the pain, what was left of it, seemed to have ebbed to only a faint ache crawling up his neck and over his head.

Draco set to work, using his hands to rub all the dead skin from his body, keeping wherever he was working under the murky water so he wouldn’t have to see himself shedding his skin like some sort of reptile. He had just finished his arms and shoulders and was about to try his neck when his chest filled with a terrible prickling pressure that left him gasping in shock and griping the sides of the bath with both hands as it filled his head with a sharp burning pain. Then it was gone, lesving him feeling faintly light-headed in its wake.

Something fell onto his shoulder, clinging and heavy. Draco forced his eyes open, grabbing it with shaking hands. A large clump of hair. His hands flew to his head, coming away with handfuls of hair, clinging to his skin, wet and stained greenish, sticking to him even as he tried to shake it off in ever-increasing panic.

Draco surged to the end of the tub, jerking out the plug, and turning on the water. His hands fumbled for the cup Potter had transfigured, holding it under the water and dumping it over his head before it was even full, shuddering at biting cold water. He shoved the cup back under the faucet, filling it again and again, pouring it over himself as his breathing echoed around the room, a rasping gasp of blind panic until he couldn’t feel any more hair sticking to his skin.

Yellow hair filled the drain, tangled and somehow completely foreign in his minds unwillingness to recognise it as his. Because it couldn’t be. Because it was too horrible to be-

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and reached up, pressing a single finger to his scalp, expecting skin and finding… hair. His eyes flew open, and he grabbed a strand pulling it down in front of his eyes. It was- and it was attached, he jerked on it experimentally. But it wasn’t blond. Even wet, the hair now growing from his head was distinctly white, catching the light in a slightly strange, almost silvery way that seemed so unlike his hair- what had been his hair…

He breathed in. Feeling his whole body wavering uncertainly, faint and shivering from cold. Potter.

He could call Potter-

Draco opened his mouth, but his voice died in his throat as his eyes focused on his foot. His perfect, unscarred, unmarred foot. He looked at the other foot in case he had remembered wrong, but it was also unmarked. He searched for the scar on his knee, the mark on his palm, the faint scratches on his forearm- all gone. He froze and slowly turned his arm over, but the dark mark was still there.

It was fainter and smoother, but anyone looking for it would be able to recognise it.

Draco looked down, the sectumsempra scars were the same.

It had taken everything he cared about, the things that made him _him_ , marks of his life and experiences that he valued and loved and _wanted_ \- and left him with only reminders of the worst of him.

He sucked in a ragged breath, followed by another, and another, heavier, turning into gasps, turning into sobs. He grabbed the side of the bath and pulling himself up. Draco crumpled onto the floor as soon as his feet touched the floor, cold tile pressed against his skin as he curling his arms over his head and cried in great heaving sobs.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry heard the water turn on overhead and rolled his eyes. Of course, Malfoy would add cold water as soon as he left.

The water _kept_ running.

Harry stood up.

There was a sound and Harry was headed towards the stairs before he could even guess what it might have been. He just… had a bad feeling.

“Malfoy?” Harry called.

He didn’t hear a response and headed up the stairs. He could hear the water better, it sounded strange like it was hitting the bottom of an empty tub rather than a full one.

“Malfoy?!” Harry practically ran to the open door, saw Malfoy crumpled on the floor and rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of him, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He hesitated and then laid a careful hand on Malfoy’s back, “Chickadee?”

Malfoy lifted his head for a brief moment, tears streaming down his face, before he grasped Harry shirt with both hands and buried his face in Harry’s chest.

As far as Harry could see, Malfoy wasn’t hurt, and his fever had broken. Something had happened. Something maybe he couldn’t fix or didn’t know how to. He summoned a towel, wrapping Malfoy up in the soft white fabric and holding him close.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco could feel Potter carefully tracing over his hand, drawing down one finger into the valley between and up again. His touch was certain, his skin a little rough and he hadn’t said anything since he had bundled Draco into bed. Draco would have studied Potter’s expression, but he had pulled the comforter over his head. His hand was, in fact, the only part of himself outside his bundle of blankets.

His skin felt as sensitive as a baby’s. Draco’s eyes ached from crying, his cheeks unpleasantly dry from the track of tears upon his skin. When he had walked the short distance to bed, the floor had felt so rough that it hurt the soles of his feet. He had hoped the last fever would be the end of it.  
At least the bed was soft again, a place of respite once more.

“You better not like it,” Draco said softly.

Potter twitched in surprise, “Oh, you’re- I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep.”

Draco pulled the edge of the comforter down to his chin “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. Like what?” Potter asked, as if he didn’t _know_.

“The changes. You’re not allowed to like them,” Draco said.

Potter’s face twisted in confusion, “…It’s not like that much changed.”

“UGH,” Draco groaned, sinking down into the blankets so only his eyes showed, “ _Everything_ changed.”

Potter raised his eyebrows, “Looks the same to me.”

Draco tugged on a messy lock of hair accusingly, “ _This_ is not the same.”

Potter’s expression remained nonplussed, “It’s still pale?”

“White. Like an old person. It used to be _blond_. Now I look like a weirdo. People are going to think I was cursed.” Draco said.

Potter’s mouth twitched with a smile, “It was kind of strange even before.”

“It wasn’t strange,” Draco said with a frown.

“I mean, if you look around the school, nobody’s nearly as pale and blond as you. You kind of always stood out,” Potter said.

“It’s not the same,” Draco said, “And I hate it.”

“Pretty much the same,” Potter reached over, brushing the hair off Draco’s forehead, “It’s still really fine, and I bet it still gleams in the sunlight the same way.”

Draco stared at him.

Potter pulled his hand back and looked away in embarrassment.

“You know…” Draco said slowly.

“Don’t-”

“I used to think you were the straightest boy I’d ever met-”

“Malfoy-”

Draco went on relentlessly, “You think my hair _gleams in the sunlight_?”

Potter grimaced, pushing his glasses up so he could cover his eyes with his hand.

“That’s extremely gay, _extremely_ -”

“Can you not? I get it. I really do. So if we could-”

“Do you? Get it,” Draco asked, “Because I could go on.”

“I- No, I do,” Potter said, “Can we not talk about it. Ever?”

“Fat chance,” Draco said.

Potter sighed.

“You were the one who said you wanted to get to know me first,” Draco said.

“It’s been a delight,” Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes, “You say that word a lot, and I’m never entirely certain if you’re being sarcastic or joking.”

“Or mean it?” Potter said.

“I know what sincerity sounds like it and that’s not it,” Draco said.

Potter frowned, “That’s…. I do mean it… but I’m also joking, sort of.”

Draco sighed, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re- you’re frustrating but in a good way,” Potter held up a hand before Draco could do more than frown at him, struggling to find the right words, “I don’t want easy. I don’t- I mean, sometimes easy is good, but not in everything, in other ways I think-”

“You’re terrible at this,” Draco said.

Potter smiled hesitantly, “Yeah. But you keep making me do it.”

“I don’t _make_ you do it,” Draco said.

“You said you didn’t know who to trust and I want you to trust me, so I have to.”

Draco felt his face get hot and pulled the blanket over his head again.

“Oh. I know what it is,” Potter said, “Talking to you feels like duelling, like I never know what to expect, and it’s hard sometimes but in a good way.”

Draco rather agreed, but he’d be damned if he was going to admit it, he was already too weak to Potter as it was.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry looked at the pile of blankets with a bemused smile, hoping he’d managed to distract Malfoy from being so upset.

“Blushing doesn’t sting anymore, right?” Harry asked.

Malfoy suddenly sat up, hitting Harry awkwardly across the face with a pillow.

Harry grabbed hold of the pillow so he wouldn’t be smacked again as he laughed, but Malfoy pulled it back, clutching it to his chest. He looked strangely young as he sat there with his shoulders hunched, his hair half falling in front of his eyes, but at least he wasn’t huddled under the blankets anymore.

“Stop looking,” Malfoy said.

“At what? You? All of you?” Harry asked.

Malfoy pressed his chin down into the pillow, turning his arm over, his voice soft, “You could see veins before,” he traced a finger up to the inside of his wrist over his pale skin that, as he had said, no longer showed the faint blue lines of veins running under the skin. “And I used to have arm hair, fine but… I wonder if I can even grow a beard now…”

“Could you before?” Harry asked.

“…No. But when I was fifty or so, I might have been able to. Now?” Malfoy touched his chin, “Look at this, as smooth as it was when I was baby.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, “I’ll make sure to mourn for the possibility that you maybe would have had a beard in future.”

He expected to get snapped or pouted at, but Malfoy just slouched over further onto his pillow.

“What’s….” Harry hesitated and then summoned up his courage and went on, “What’s wrong? What’s really wrong?”

Malfoy bit his bottom lip, holding his hand palm up and pressing his thumb onto the faint lines, “…Once I was arguing with Theo about thestrals versus unicorns versus abraxans. I was gesturing a bit too excitedly and somehow stabbed myself with my quill, and there was a mark, even after it healed, a little smudge of ink under the skin.” His palm was unmarked.

Malfoy turned his arm over again, “And, the first time I met Millie’s cat, I’d never really interacted with a cat before, she said I was too rough, and it scratched me. I was too scared to pet it after that, but sometimes it would lay next to me against my leg.” There were no scars on his arm.

“And there was a scar on my knee from where I fell and a one on my foot from -” Malfoy broke off, taking a shaky breath on the edge of tears.

Harry held out his hand, and Malfoy reached out to take it, but his hand stopped halfway. He just stared at it, studying like he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it before. “You probably think this is stupid. You always say, ‘It’s still you’ but-”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Harry said quickly, “I just mean that you’re still the same person underneath. Like no matter what changes, you’re still the Malfoy I’ve always known.”

“Am I?” Malfoy said softly.

Harry shifted to the edge of his seat, catching Malfoy’s hand out of the air and holding it tightly though Malfoy didn’t squeeze back.“What do you-?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said hopelessly, “I feel like there’s a stranger that’s taken over my body, but then it’s _always_ been there. And how much of it is me or becoming me? How much of this horrible new thing makes up me? What am I? Am I Draco Malfoy or a veela? And if- if it’s both- if it’s part of me do I have to accept the violence of it- the predator, the animal of it-” he blinked, and a tear slipped silently down his cheek, “What if all the bad things I’ve ever done are because I’m a monster? What if I can never be more than that? If I want to change and I can’t, if I’m tainted by this forever…”

Harry shuddered.

And stood up.

“don’t run away,” Malfoy said, barely above a whisper, his eyes locked on Harry’s with an unnerving knowing in them.

“This is- It’s not about me- It’s not-”

“I don’t care, tell me,” Malfoy said, another tear ran down his cheek, and he hurriedly wiped it away.

“I want to help _you_ -” Harry protested weakly, every inch of his body screaming to go, to run or fly or walk until his the feeling was drowned out by exhaustion.

“Can’t I feel the same?” Malfoy said, “You’ve already carried such a burden of my suffering.”

“It’s not. It’s not a burden,” Harry said.

“Then it won’t be for me either,” Malfoy said.

Malfoy’s grip on his hand was firm but not so tight Harry couldn’t have pulled away… but the thought of pulling away, the expressions he could imagine on Malfoy’s face if he did, sunk heavy in his gut like a lead weight, pulling him stiffly back down to his seat.

Harry breathed for a long time, looking at the toe of his shoe, his mind a blank even as he began to talk, his voice strangely flat even to his own ears. “You know, when I was a baby, and Voldemort died, the first time?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said simply.

“My mother protected me, and it reflected the killing curse, but it… it broke part of his soul when he died,” Harry pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, sliding hard against the scar there and tangling carelessly in his hair. “It ended up in me.”

Malfoy’s hand twitched, but he stayed silent; Harry was grateful for that, he wasn’t sure he would be able to say it otherwise.

“It’s gone now,” Harry said it again, to try and reassure himself, “It’s gone… But sometimes I can’t keep from thinking about who I might have been if it hadn’t been there. Would I have been a better person…?”

Malfoy squeezed his hand encouragingly.

“I don’t know- I- When I started school here, my head would hurt, like it was splitting in two when he was close by, and in nightmares. After he came back in fifth year, sometimes I could _feel_ what he felt and see what he saw and-” the words caught in his throat and he shuddered so hard he wanted to fold over on himself. “Sometimes I can almost still feel it like it left a stain inside me… I feel dirty, but I can’t scrub it away, and I can’t talk to anyone about it, I mean hardly anyone knows and those that do, they don’t understand… or they just don’t want to hear it, to taint the image they have of me, the hero.”

Malfoy tugged on his hand, and Harry followed his pull, moving onto the bed. He closed his eyes as Malfoy cupped his face, his thumbs brushing across his cheeks to wipe the dampness from them Harry hadn’t even realised he’d cried.

“Sorry,” Harry said weakly.

“For what?” Malfoy asked, his own voice sounding just as fragile.

“I should be better.”

“You don’t have to,” Malfoy said.

“…I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Harry said.

“Not anymore. No more than I should be taking care of you,” Malfoy said.

“But-”

“I don’t need a hero,” Malfoy interrupted.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, a few more tears escaped and were caught by Malfoy’s careful touch.

“I like you this way…” Malfoy said and then let out a little huff of a laugh, “It’s still you.”

Harry opened his eyes. Malfoy’s smile was uneven, cut with his own crying. He leaned forward, hesitating before pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead, cool and soft against his skin. Harry expected Malfoy to be blushing when he pulled ba but he was calm.

Harry reached up and pressed a hand over Malfoy’s, “Is now a good ti-”

Malfoy dipped forward again, pressing their lips together, noses bumping as he realised belated to tilt his head. Harry had to wonder how much experience he had or if he had any at all. Malfoy had hardly pulled away when Harry chased after to kiss him again. His lips were very soft, and he made a little surprised noise when Harry kissed him that Harry felt to the tips of his toes.

“Of course it’s not a good time,” Malfoy said as he pulled back, his lower lip pushed out in a faint pout, “We’re both crying, you fucking turnip.”

Harry laughed and got a handful of hair pulled for his trouble.

“Shall I just assume you’re always going to pick the most awkward, unsuitable times to be- be like this,” Malfoy said.

“Romantic?” Harry suggested.

“It’s not romantic, it’s inconvenient,” Malfoy said.

Harry laughed again.

Malfoy sighed. “And… I know it’s not exactly the same but,” he held out his arm and the silvery scarred outline of the dark mark, “I know what it feels like to be stained by that man.”

“Could I-?” Harry asked, his hand hovering over the mark.

Malfoy hesitated and then nodded, looking like he was bracing himself.

“It’s fine if you don’t want me to,” Harry said.

Malfoy silently guided Harry’s hand down, shivering as he touched the pale skin.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” Malfoy said, “Not physically anyway…. Sometimes I wish I could just cut it off me.”

Harry looked up, “You wouldn’t-”

“No,” Malfoy smiled faintly, “I don’t like pain, remember?””

Harry nodded.

“There are sheep farms around the Manor-”

“Sheep?” Harry asked.

“- _There are sheep farms_ ,” Malfoy glared at him, “-and In order to keep track of whose sheep are whose, they mark them with colours, green and blue and red… I feel like one of those sheep when I look at this, marked to control me, so others would see it and know…”

“You’re not a sheep,” Harry said.

“It’s…of course not, it’s just a feeling,” Malfoy said.

“I mean, for one thing, Voldemort isn’t a farmer type, he’s more like a wolf and wolves don’t make good shepherds. And this,” Harry slid his hand down over Malfoy’s scar, “isn’t paint, this is more like… like when they used to brand cows with hot irons. If anyone’s at fault its the wolf.”

“The wolf,” Malfoy said flatly.

Even though he said that Harry couldn’t quite shake the words ‘like lambs to the slaughter’ from his mind. Both of them had been raised only to be offerings, to serve a single purpose that very nearly killed them.

Malfoy shivered.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“Just cold,” Malfoy said.

Harry grabbed the back of his jumper and pulled it over his head.

“What-! Potter! Don’t-”

Harry slipped the jumper over Malfoy, cutting off his protests until his head managed to poke out the collar with a glare. “Look, your hair still gets all staticy the same way,” Harry said brightly.

“You are a horrible, wretched, human being-” Malfoy fumed.

“Give it back then,” Harry said.

Malfoy shoved his arms through the sleeves, “Fuck off.”

Harry laughed.

Malfoy looked down at the jumper in dismay holding the sides out like a kite, “This could practically fit two of you.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry said, “It was the jumper Molly gave me in first year. I started to grow out of it, but I didn’t want to get rid of it, so I tried to charm it bigger. It didn’t quite work how I meant it.”

“That seems an understatement,” Malfoy said.

“It’s still bloody comfortable though.”

“I suppose,” Malfoy conceded.

“How about some food? I could send the elves a patronus,” Harry said.

Malfoy nodded.

* * *

  
  


  
  


The house elves sent up what was becoming Malfoy’s normal tray, with enough food for two or three people or a very hungry Ron. Despite the amount of food, Malfoy worked through it with the same diligence he directed at his homework, which Harry dutifully teased him for and was glared at in turn.

They got ready for bed not long after, both exhausted from everything that had happened during the day. Malfoy kept on Harry’s jumper, and Harry climbed into Malfoy’s bed without asking. There was still some lingering feeling of nervousness from the sheer newness of it all, but they both knew each other well enough to know they’d speak their mind if the other did something they didn’t like.

Malfoy pulled the comforter up to his ears after wrapping himself around Harry, his cheek resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“My arm’s going to go numb,” Harry said.

“That sounds like a terrible problem for you,” Malfoy said, waiting for Harry’s sigh before wiggled further down, “Less bony here anyway.”

“Right, because my utmost concern with you using me as a pillow was your comfort,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Ought to be,” Malfoy said.

Harry snorted. “...You know this is a terrible habit. I don’t know what I’m going to do after we have to leave.”

“Keep doing it,” Malfoy said.

“I think Ron’d kill me if I snuck you into the Gryffindor tower every night,” Harry said.

“I’d probably die first from the sheer horror of that much red on everything,” Malfoy said.

“As if green is much better.”

“Green is a natural colour, grass is green, trees are green,” Malfoy said, “You know what’s red?”

“Your face when you blush?” Harry suggested.

“Shut up, you,” Malfoy said, blindly reaching up and smooshing his hand over Harry’s face.

Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled it away, “Very mature of you.”

“Says the one who brought up my blushing, as if that was relevant _at all_ ,” Malfoy muttered.

“You asked what was red,” Harry said.

“I meant, naturally, in nature,” Malfoy said.

“Aren’t you? I mean we’re all animals technically,” Harry said.

Malfoy sighed and scrubbed his cheek against Harry’s chest, “…. _Anyway_. I have a private room, is what I was trying to get to.”

“A private room? Are you a prefect or did all eighth year Slytherin’s get a room?” Harry asked.

“I am the only eighth year Slytherin,” Malfoy said.

“The blond, um, Greengrass? She came back,” Harry said.

“Daphne? Would you have us sharing a room then?” Malfoy asked.

“No. I’d rather you have a private room.”

“Exactly,” Malfoy said.

Harry reached over to the side table and found his wand, dousing the lumos. The moon was still fairly bright only a few days past full, letting a faint glow through the small windows that seemed to catch on the edges of things. What light there was seemed to linger on Malfoy’s hair, so it almost glowed in the shadowed room.

“Sometime… will you tell me about your scars?” Malfoy asked quietly.

“Mine?” Harry said.

“When you pulled your shirt off I saw a few,” Malfoy said.

“There are more than a few,” Harry said.

“...I’m in no rush,” Draco said. “Scars are important. They carry stories with them.”

Harry wrapped his arm around Malfoy, “Maybe you should write them down, the stories that go with your scars. That way you won’t forget them.”

“They’re mostly stupid,” Malfoy said.

“Not if they’re important to you, chickadee,” Harry said.

Harry felt Malfoy press his cheek against him, “...chickadee… why do you call me that?”

Harry blinked at the darkness, “You don’t remember?”

“Would I have asked if I did?” Malfoy said with a huff.

“Oh. Umm. After we talked to those veela teachers from Beauxbaton, you were pretty out of it,” Harry said.

“I remember talking to them...” Malfoy said.

“I carried you back up to the tower-”

“I- Yes.”

“And I was teasing you-”

Malfoy huffed a laugh, “Shocking.”

“-about you being a little bird, and I sort of got attached to chickadee,” Harry said. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s… embarrassing but not- not in a bad way,” Malfoy said, and then yawned which made Harry yawn.

“You called me all sorts of bird names as well,” Harry said.

“Hmm...” Malfoy said sleepily.

“Every black bird you could think of,” Harry said, and added hopefully, “I thought…starling was rather nice.”

But as he waited in the darkness, Malfoy’s silence and his even deep breathing told Harry that he’d fallen asleep.

Harry sighed, “...never mind.”

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

  
  


Draco scratched the back of his neck. The itch did not fade but spread down his back as he blearily opened his eye. And then closed them again. It was Granger and Weasley coming up the tower.

“Why is it your friends have absolutely no decorum?” Draco muttered.

“Uhhn…” Potter sighed, still entirely asleep.

Draco envied him.

“Hello? Anyone here?” Granger called.

“Yes,” Draco said, not bothering to raise his voice. He had the rather unlikely hope they wouldn’t hear him and go away.

They heard him.

“Um, should we come up or wait-?” Granger said tentatively.

“Fuck if I care,” Draco said. He hadn’t moved and wasn’t intending too until absolutely necessary.

The footsteps came about halfway up the stairs before stopping abruptly with a squeak of surprise from Granger, “I- I should have a-asked if you were decent.”

“Huh?” Potter frowned, his forehead crinkled in the daze of just waking.

“Even if we weren’t decent, which we are, the blankets would cover everything,” Draco said, “Are all you Gryffindor’s such prudes?”

“Nah, just don’t want to see your pasty arse,” Weasley said cheerfully, guiding Granger up the rest of the steps, “You sure you aren’t half ghost, Malfoy? You were pale enough before, now you’d disappear in a snowstorm.”

“Says the one whose only colour comes from what looks like specks of dirt on his skin,” Draco said.

“Hey!” Weasley protested.

Potter finally showed he was awake by putting his hand over Draco’s mouth. “Don’t mind Malfoy, he’s prickly in the morning.”

Draco tried to bite his finger, but Potter pulled away too quickly.

“You fucking talk to them then,” Draco snapped, grabbing the comforter and pulling it over his head.

“Prickly is right,” Weasley said.

“You lay off as well,” Potter said, sitting up and pulling the blankets down _again_ , and putting on his glasses.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“It was just some good-natured teasing,” Weasley said.

“Maybe you ought to save the ‘good-natured teasing’ for when you actually get along first,” Potter said.

“Yeah, fine,” Weasley said, a bit more subdued.

Granger loudly cleared her throat, “Harry, we’re sorry to have bothered, you but this couldn’t wait.”

Potter nodded.

“The auror’s showed up this morning,” Weasley said, “Like, all of them.”

“They’re-”

“Actually doing something? Yes,” Granger said, “They’re going to sweep through the forbidden forest this afternoon to try and flush the werewolf out. They have a hit-wizard team waiting in the east, away from the town and the school, to- to put it out of its misery.”

“Any seventh and eighth years can join, two students and an auror per group. They’ve been drilling the students in the great hall on all sorts of spells since breakfast,” Weasley said.

“What? What time is it now? Are you going?” Potter asked.

Weasley and Granger looked at one another, exchanging a complicated look before turning back to Potter.

“We are,” Granger said, “We can’t leave things like this, and we’re not going to let you go without us.”

Potter swung his legs off the bed, “How much time do we have?”

“Two hours or so. Enough time to eat and get dressed,” Weasley said.

“This seems to be happening very fast,” Draco said, bitterly pushing himself upright.

Granger suddenly looked deeply unsettled, “…The test results came back on the blood I sent in.” She took a deep breath, “The werewolf has _rabies_.”

“What?” Potter stiffened, “Are you serious? I thought that was eradicated here.”

“Bats still carry it, but more importantly, _muggles_ have eradicated it-”

“And wizards don’t always vaccinate,” Potter finished, his eyes wide.

Granger nodded, “It’s possible the virus was still being carried in pockets of hidden wizarding settlements, or it was a bat that infected the werewolf, and the wizarding world has just been depending on herd immunity from the larger muggle communities.”

“It’s real bad,” Weasley said.

Granger went on, “The virus usually kills the host in two weeks after symptoms present, and this wolf has been alive for over a month and who knows how much longer into the future, attacking things and spreading rabies through a magic forest. What if a centaur is bitten? Or another thestral and it presents with furious rabies instead of paralytic rabies?”

“Or a giant spider,” Weasley said with utter dread.

“I’m just glad the ministry recognises how dangerous it is,” Granger said.

“I wouldn’t give them that much credit,” Potter said, “They’re probably more worried about the statute of secrecy if one of those creatures were to escape.”

“Or more,” Weasley said.

“I’m gonna change,” Potter got to his feet and headed down the stairs, Weasley at his heels.

Granger crossed her arms, shouting down the stairs, “Tell me when you’re finished.” She didn’t look at Draco. Almost guilty, she avoided looking at him.

“You could have just not told him,” Draco said quietly.

Granger grimaced, “…We talked about it. But Harry would have been furious with us, and then he might not have let us help him the next time he might need it. It’s a calculated risk but I think keeping his trust is more important.”

“You could have lied,” Draco said, “Said you didn’t even know it was happening. Said you slept in, it’s not that hard.”

Granger glanced over at him, then back down the stairs, “Ron’s not good at keeping up those sorts of lies, not to Harry. And Harry’s one of my best friends, we’ve been through so much it- it’s complicated.”

Draco stared at her. It didn’t seem that complicated to him. He’d do anything to protect the people he cared about.

“Sorry. I know the two of you together is still new. We’ll keep an eye on him. We’ve always watched out for one another,” Granger said.

Then Weasley called, and she hurried downstairs, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco slowly made his way down the stairs once Granger and Weasley had left. The floor seemed to dig into his feet, like walking on coarse stones, the carpet was only slightly better.

Potter was finishing his lunch on the couch and hardly looked over when Draco sat next to him.

“I thought you’d leave with them,” Draco said.

“Without saying anything? I wouldn’t do that,” Potter said.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I learned my lesson,” Potter said.

“Mhmm,” Draco said, “…So you’re going then.”

“Yeah,” Potter said, like ‘of course’.

“Were you going to ask me to come along?” Draco said.

Potter hesitated, “You can barely walk. Hiking through the forest would be torture.”

“But you could ask,” Draco said.

Potter put his empty plate back onto the tray, “Yeah, but what if you said yes?”

“I’d go.”

“And I’d feel horrible,” Potter said.

“Then maybe you’d stay,” Draco said.

Potter shook his head, “I can’t. This is important.”

Draco sighed.

“I’m just going to be helping flush the werewolf out of the woods. I probably won’t even see it.”

“Again,” Draco said flatly.

Potter shook his head, “I was patrolling the road to Hogsmeade, looking for it, on purpose. There was a good chance if it showed I was going to see it.”

“You have the worst luck of any human being I’ve ever met,” Draco said.

Potter put on a snarky little grin, “Says the bloke who ended up with Voldemort living in his house, pressured into being a death eater at sixteen, forced to kill the most powerful wizard in the world and breach an unbreachable school at-”

Draco put his hand over Potters mouth, “Enough.”

Potter paused, his grin unmoved, even as he turned his head out of Draco’s grasp, “Is this our new thing?

“What thing?” Draco asked, dropping his hand back into his lap.

“The hand on the face thing,” Potter said.

“It works. Well…until one of us bites the other anyway,” Draco said.

“Hmm,” Potter said appreciatively, “Might not be that bad.”

“You have the strangest kinks,” Draco said.

Potter put on a frown, “I don’t even know if it’s a kink yet.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Potter leaned closer, “And carrying you isn’t a kink because I don’t get ha-”

Draco smacked his hand back over Potters mouth, with a blush. He felt Potter smile, and then grab Draco’s wrist, brushing a kiss across Draco’s palm as he pulled his hand away, “I do like carrying you though.”

“You’re the worst,” Draco said, not out of choice but because it happened to come out of his mouth.

Harry smiled, “Back to who has the worst luck, you also just found out you were a veela,” Potter said, “So I’d say we’re probably pretty even on the luck front.”

“Currently… I might possibly agree,” Draco said, “but before fifth year my luck was quite good.”

“For someone with such good luck, you never seemed to beat me in quidditch,” Potter said.

Draco knew he was being baited and decided not to rise to it, “I beat everyone else well enough.”

Potter sighed, “Can’t we just call it even?”

“No,” Draco said flatly. “Turn around so I can braid your hair before you go.”

Potter’s eyebrows rose.

“So it doesn’t get in the way. I’m not putting all that practise to waste,” Draco said, waving at him impatiently to stop staring and move.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Potter turned around, and Draco carefully gathered up his hair, combing his fingers through the wilder curls, knowing that he didn’t have time to comb it out as thoroughly as he would have wanted. Still, he took his time braiding, making sure it was tight enough that it wouldn’t fall apart. As Draco reached the end, Potter’s hair curled around his fingers as if trying to hold onto him. He held the bottom of the braid with one hand, slipping off the bright blue hair tie off his wrist, once lost and now returned, and looping it around Potter’s hair.

Draco let go reluctantly and leaned back, “Done.”

Potter turned back around, studying Draco’s face, “It is going to be fine, you know.”

“You said that already,” Draco said, doing his best to hide his anxiety.

Potter got to his feet, shoving his feet into a pair of boots that had seen better days.

“Don’t go,” Draco blurted and then instantly regretted it. He knew Potter wasn’t going to change his mind.

“I have to,” Potter repeated. “I’ll come back.”

“You had better,” Draco said.

Potter leaned close, and Draco thought he was going to kiss him, and then Potter froze and pulled back.

“You might as well kiss me if you’re going to go off and die alone in the forest,” Draco said

And Potter smiled the strangest smile, caught somewhere between laughing and crying, “I’m not going to die.”

“Then fucking kiss me, you horrible man,” Draco said.

Potter grinned and stepped close, ringing an arm around Draco’s waist to pull him close and kiss him until he was feeling breathless.

“You have to breath through your nose,” Potter said.

“Shut up,” Draco muttered.

Potter pressed his face into the curve of Draco’s shoulder, wrapping his other arm around Draco to hold him tight. Draco looped his arms around Potter’s neck; loose wispy curls were already pulling free around Potter’s temples, tickling Draco’s cheek.

“Now you’ve made me nervous,” Potter said.

“As you should be,” Draco said, “Promise me you’ll tell me what that expression was.”

“What expression?” Potter asked, slowly reluctantly loosening his hold.

“The one you had when I said you were going off alone to die in the forest,” Draco said./p>

Potter looked over his shoulder at the window then fished a dented silver pocket watch out of his pocket and checked the time, “I need to go.”

“Promise me,” Draco said, “You have to come back and tell me.”

Potter looked at him with what Draco might have called, if he was feeling generous, fond exasperation.

“Alright, I promise,” Potter said before giving Draco one more fleeting chaste kiss and hurrying down the stairs, his steps echoing up the stone steps fainter and fainter until Draco couldn’t sense him anymore.

Draco pressed his hand over his mouth with a shudder.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry paused for a second inside the great hall, scanning the waiting crowds of students for Ron and Hermione. Ron spotted him first, raising his arm and waving Harry over.

“Hey. Am I late?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged, “Technically. But the aurors are still doing their own briefing, we’re waiting for them to come back.”

“You braided your hair, that’s good. I thought you still had to ask Ginny to do it for you,” Hermione said. She had her own hair pulled back into a ponytail and then resolutely shoved under a knit hat where it couldn’t cause too much trouble.

Harry shook his head, but before he could answer, Hermione asked, “Is that my hair tie?” leaning back to look at his braid.

Harry pulled the braid around squinting at the blue hairband tying the end, “Err, maybe? I suppose it could be.”

“I thought you said you lost it,” Hermione said, “I stopped lending them to you because you lost so many.”

“Malfoy braided my hair for me, he must have found it,” Harry said.

“He braided your hair,” Ron groaned. “The two of you are going to be unbearable.”

Harry shook his head, “I had to start announcing when I was coming into any room _with_ my eyes closed, so I wouldn’t have to see the two of you snogging on just about every piece of furniture in the Burrow. You’re practically family, I don’t need to ever see that. I’m scarred for life now.” Harry said.

Hermione looked embarrassed.

“ _That’s_ what scarred you for life?” Ron scoffed, “That’s just normal dating. It’s always more exciting at the beginning.”

“Have you been dating so many people you’re an expert now?” Hermione asked sarcastically.

“I mean, well, everybody knows that,” Ron said stiffly.

“And you could try braiding my hair you know,” Hermione added.

“Hermione,” Ron said with grave seriousness, “ _You_ have trouble braiding your hair. Luna’s the only one who has the patience for it.”

Hermione crossed her arms, “It just takes a little more work is all… and a bit of practice.”

Before they could start into what promised to be an epic squabble between the two of them, a grim group of aurors filed into the front of the room with Robards at their head.

Robard’s gave them a very stern rundown of what was to happen. It was pretty much what Ron had told him before, and from the slightly distracted expressions on the students around him, they had all heard it a few times themselves. There were a few new details that Robards emphasized but raising his voice, that they were to stay within ten feet of the others in their group, to move closer if the brush got thick. Above all, they were never to be out of casting range of one another. They were to protect one another first and foremost and to signal by sending up sparks at the first opportunity if they encountered the werewolf or were otherwise in danger.

McGonagall and a few of the other professors were lined up at the front as well. Each auror was assigned two students that met with the Headmistress’ approval and went to stand out of the way. As the students dwindled along with the aurors, the professors taking some of the student groups as well, Robards came over to them.

He clapped his hand on Harry’s shoulder a bit too heavily, so Harry just barely managed to keep from stumbling, “There you are, Potter! I was hoping you’d join us.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, sir,” Harry said.

“I’m assigning you three the outer perimeter,” Robards said.

“Us?” Harry frowned, “But aren’t we going to be partnered with an auror?”

“Like I said, it’ll be the outer edge of the forest that runs right along the school grounds,” Robards said, “Any trouble and you can step right through the wards and be fine.”

He clapped Harry on the shoulder again, and Harry let his shoulder drop, so Robards hand slipped off.

Robards didn’t seem to notice and went on, “You showed yourself exceptionally capable this summer, as were Granger and Weasley in the war. We just need a few more groups to get enough coverage of that damn massive forest.”

Harry didn’t like it. He’d always worked with at least a pair of aurors before, never on his own. But he didn’t want to fight with the person who would be his future boss, and could possibly even keep him from being hired.

He looked to Ron and Hermione first. It wasn’t wholly his decision to make.

“Right on the forest’s edge?” Ron said, “So no spiders. Sounds good to me.”

Hermione hesitated the longest before nodding, “Having the wards nearby would be good.”

Robards nodded before once again going over the plan and safety regulations.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco looked at the tray on the table and the plates of food and sat down. He ate without tasting, going from plate to the next, mostly staring into the fireplace with it’s dimming flames.

He put the last empty plate back onto an empty tray which disappeared with a pop. Draco made his way back upstairs, wincing on tender feet with every step until he reached the bed. He sat on the edge and pulled Potter’s jumper off and laid it at the end, leaning over to tug his socks off one after the other. He stood and let the soft cotton boxers he’d stolen from Potter fall onto the ground. He put on a pair of new pants and black trousers, sitting back down to roll the cuffs of the trousers up.

Draco looked at the closed double doors and shivered; cold just thinking of the ice and snow outside. He missed Hagrid’s borrowed scarf, but even as he thought of it, his eyes fell on Potter’s jumper and its thick warm knit. He gathered up his shoes, shrinking them down and slipping them into his socks which he folded up and then rolled into the jumper. Once he was sure it was securely bundled, he tied it around his neck where it wouldn’t be in the way.

He stood up, grabbing the bottle of nutrient potion from his bedside table, pulling out the cork and dropping it onto the floor as he finished off the last quarter of the bottle, following it with the strengthening potion.  
Draco stretched his neck from one side to the other, as his body filled with the warmth and tingling of the not entirely unpleasant feeling of things changing and growing. He set the empty bottle back onto the table, one chiming lightly against the other. It no longer hurt to walk as scales began forming on his feet. His talons clicked on the stone floors as he walked over to the double doors and flung them open to the biting winter cold.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry studied the treeline. The several inches of snow on the ground dwindled and almost disappeared at the trees grew denser, the forest green so dark it was almost black. On his left he could just see McGonagall with a student on either side of her, her mouth flattened into a thin line. On his right was Hermione and then Ron. They had argued about who would stand where all the way to the Hogsmeade road and eventually decided it by flipping a knut.  
There was a shout down the road, too distant to make out, a line of lumos spreading from the centre as one after another everyone cast the spell to show readiness.  
“Lumos,” Harry murmured, a small orb of pale blue light forming at the tip of his wand.  
He kept his eyes fixed at the centre of the road until a streak of blue sparks was cast up into the sky. The sign to start.  
Harry turned back to the forest, looking over at Hermione and Ron, “Ready?”  
Hermione nodded.  
“Yeah,” Ron said.  
And they stepped into the forest.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco watched the forest frozen in place, the chill sending a persistent shiver over his skin until he saw lights, specks into the distant, small as stars that wobbled like fireflies as they began to move into the trees.  
He stretched his wings out, flexing them and flapping them to get his blood flowing.  
“Sorry, Hagrid. This is one promise I have to break,” Draco murmured.  
His thumb talon hooked onto the bannister, brushing snow over the edge and sending it raining onto roofs below. The sharp point scored thin white lines into the stone as he pulled himself up. Draco grimaced one last time before pushing his face to change into a beak.  
He was not the brave one of the two of them, but he overruled his fear with determination.

Draco took a deep breath and screamed at the sky, snapped the sharp curved beak closed and took flight.

* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry looked up at the grey, dull sky, straining his ears after the strange sound he had heard.

“Sparks?” Hermione asked in a hushed tone, pausing so she wouldn’t get ahead of him.

Harry looked back at the forest, quickly scanning the surroundings, “No. Thought I heard… a hippogryph or something.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded and started walking. Every step they took, every snap of a twig, every crunch of snow underfoot made him tense up even knowing the werewolf would be in front of them, if it was even close.

He glanced to his right, seeing the open green of the grounds around the black lake through the trees close to Ron. To his left, he thought he saw the barest glimpse of yellow from the students closest to their group, but they were getting further away, drifting as the forest widened with no discernable border to keep them in place like Harry’s group had.

Harry swerved around a massive tree, circling it and looking over at Hermione to make sure she was still there and he was still on track. She looked grim.

“Hermione?” Harry asked under his breath, “You alright?”

Hermione nodded grimly, “Was just thinking….”

“About what?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head, “No. It’s probably fine.”

“Too late,” Ron said under his breath, “I’m worried now.”

Hermione hopped over a fallen log before answering, “It’s just that this plan makes sense.”

“…Yeah?” Harry said.

“I’m worried the werewolf won’t have any. Late-stage rabies is yowling and digging and biting anything it gets near. It isn’t something that makes sense,” Hermione said.

“That so?” Ron said, his voice a little strained, “Just had an idea, how about we all move close to the wards? Significantly closer, even.”

Harry and Hermione both nodded. Hermione walked over to Ron as Harry started navigating his way around a large clump of brush. They all froze at the sound of something moving further ahead.

Harry strained his eyes into the distance, looking for movement between the trees. There was a small clearing just ahead, and something large with black fur was walking near the treeline, each step jerky and uncertain.

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione. Ron waved for him to come over to them. Harry ducked around a half-fallen tree. If they were together, if they were closer to the wards, then-

A branch cracked underfoot, and the black creature snapped toward them, moving unsteadily into the trees towards the sound.

Harry knew continuing around the brush would put him closer to it, but it was faster. Going back and around would separate him from Ron and Hermione too long, he couldn’t risk it. He clenched his jaw, raising his wand ready to cast and ran as fast he dared through the shadowed, cluttered forest.

“ _Protego_!”

Harry heard Ron and Hermione cast at the same time, a shield of light going up around them as he saw the werewolf in front of him, and stopped in his tracks.

It was bigger than before, but the recent full moon hadn’t fixed everything. There were scars from poorly healed wounds littered across its body, and it was missing half an ear and large patches of fur. Saliva dripped from its open mouth as it panted, occasionally making strange half whining, half guttural noises as it paced in front of the protego. Then it suddenly jumped at the barrier, throwing its full weight against it as it snapped and clawed violently, the magical protection shivering from the force.

If Ron and Hermione’s barrier fell before they could recast it, if they were bitten-

The wolf walked along the barrier again, dragging its muzzle against it, trying to find a way to break it, biting and drooling against it as the whine grew in pitch.

Ron was pale and grim. He called to Harry, waving both arms to keep the werewolf’s attention on them, “We all hit it with a blasting curse at the same time and run for the wards on three! Ready?!”

Harry nodded.

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

Ron took a deep breath, “One! Two! Three!”

“CONFRINGO!”

Harry and Hermione cast at the same time, Ron a second behind, the spell hitting the werewolf with dull thumps like they were hitting wet concrete with a few horrifying cracks as some of its ribs caved and snapped. The wolf stumbled and collapsed, blood mixing with the saliva foaming at its mouth.

Hermione and Ron headed straight towards the wards, but Harry had a werewolf in the way.

Harry ran up and around, towards the clearing, giving the werewolf a large berth. He wasn’t able to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, saw the wolf pushing itself unsteadily to its feet, snarling as broken bones began to knit under its skin.

Harry looked for the wards, pushing himself to run faster, tasting blood in the back of this throat as his boots broke through the snow of the open clearing, feeling heavier than tidewater against his calves.

The treeline was in sight and the school grounds just beyond that.

He could hear another ragged breath beneath his own. Harry looked over his shoulder again, and the werewolf at his heel, tongue lolling out of its mouth as it easily devoured the distance between them.

Harry spun around, his wand moving on its own, casting a silent _incarcerous,_ his throat too choked on its own breathing to form the words. The ropes that spun out of his wand caught the werewolf around the head and mouth, lashing it shut. The wolf jumped at Harry anyway, mouth working futility against the too thin, too hastily cast ropes. Harry took the weight of the beast against his shoulder as he hit the ground, gasping from the pain even as he quickly rolled away and raised a wand that shook far too much, his shoulder screaming with pain at being moved.

“ _protego_!” Harry hissed, and wanted to cry with relief when the spell cast.

The werewolf tried to open its mouth again, snarling and shoving its muzzle against the ground; rubbing and clawing viciously at the binding without any heed for its own well-being, leaving shallow gouges along its face as it finally broke free. It threw itself back at Harry, slamming into the barrier and breaking through it like it was made of glass, skidding across the snow from the force.

Harry forced himself up, half staggering backwards, using his other arm to hold his wand up, “ _protego-! Protego!_ ” the spell would barely form before dissolving around him. He grimaced and gripped his wand tighter.

From the corner of his eye, he saw red sparks shoot up into the sky. At least Hermione and Ron were safe, and help would be here soon-

The wolf got back onto its feet, slower, a string of saliva trailed from its mouth leaving a blood-tinged trail on the broken snow.

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to cast again, “ _Protego!_ ” The spell curled around him, but he could tell it wouldn’t hold.

There was an animal scream in the air above him, bright and sharp, like a hawk on the hunt. The sound sent a shudder straight down his spine and made him feel very small, like a mouse in an open field. Harry looked up and saw something high above them, pale white against the grey sky.

Above them, massive dragon-like wings spread wide, before they folding tight to their body, the white shape driving towards the earth. Black talons opened wide as it slammed into the werewolf in a spray of snow and a mix of canine screams and terrible snarling hissing, the two tumbled across the ground, in a mass of fur and scales.

The white creature got caught in the snow, the werewolf continued skidding across the ground. As the creature began to push itself up, Harry started seeing the human in it, a familiar build even with the wings and talons, and hair the same colour of the snow that somehow still managed to catch the light.

“Malfoy?” Harry said, dismay overwhelming his shock.

Malfoy looked over at him, just a second, his grey eyes so pale they looked white, the black of his eyes blown wide before he turned back to the wolf.

Malfoy pushed himself onto his knees, leaning forward on his folded wings with a dry snarled hiss, keeping his body between Harry and the wolf.

The werewolf jerked itself back to its feet, still for a few deep heaving breaths, its tongue hanging loose in its mouth, then leapt. Malfoy’s wing swung up, a black hooked claw embedding into the wolfs shoulder, catching and then tearing free as it was flung loose. Dark viscous blood soaking into the wolf’s fur and pattering onto the snow, slower to heal than before.

Harry crept closer, trying not to draw the werewolf’s attention. His hand was cold and stiff from holding onto his wand too tightly, but he couldn’t risk doing anything about it now.

The werewolf stumbled to its feet, a leg gave out, and it fell again. A low growl rose in its throat as it slowly stood on shaking legs. It snapped at the air and shifted its weight, wavering, walking at an angle out of reach. The muscles rose along Malfoy’s back as he tensed.

The werewolf turned, darting in and Malfoy swung his talon at the wolf again. But the wolf was weaker and slower, and the black talon caught nothing but air. The werewolf hit Malfoy in the side, and there was a snapping noise, no different than a twig breaking if it wasn’t for the cry of pain that followed it, sounding all too human.

Harry’s mind went cold, all he could see was Malfoy, Malfoy as he tried to jerk away, as he tried to hook the wolf with his other wing, as the werewolf was too close, the flash of bared white teeth snapping around Malfoy’s neck.

Harry’s wand swung up, flicked to the right and down and hit the werewolf across the side with a blasting curse that slammed it off Malfoy. He stumbled toward Malfoy, his breath catching in his throat.

“Malfoy? Draco?” Harry asked, his voice hardly above a whisper, dropping to his knees in the snow beside him.

There was no blood, just something like a scarf torn around his neck. Malfoy chest was rising and falling quick and fast like a bird, his grey eyes focused on Harry, his brow furrowing in irritation so familiar Harry laughed with relief.

The moment was gone in an instant when they heard the sound of paws on snow, looking up as the werewolf stood once more, snarling and panting clouds of steam into the cold air.

Harry lifted his wand as it loped towards them, madness filling its feral yellow eyes. Malfoy pulled his legs up at it leapt at them, and Harry cast on instinct. Ropes, still too thin, spun from his wand and bound around the wolf’s mouth and neck at it stopped just inches from them, Malfoy’s talons wrapped around its neck and chest. There was a second of pure silence, only the sound of their breathing and then the wolf began to whine and struggle, and Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut as his feet flexed and those curved knife-like talons sunk into the werewolf’s body.

Harry wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s shoulder, holding him tightly as the wolf spasm and jerked, trying desperately to escape. Each movement was slower than the last as blood thick and viscous as tar dripped from the body coating Malfoy’s feet and legs and soaking the snow around them. Until it was still.

Malfoy flung it from him and twisted himself away, retching onto the ground, shaking violently as a tear escaped down his cheek.

On the other side of the clearing, Harry could hear Hermione and Ron calling his name, and the sky was filled answering green and blue sparks as the aurors closed in on their position.

They were safe.

* * *

  
  


  
  


It was cold. That was why Draco was shaking. And his arm hurt, with a burning stabbing pain that shot down to where the werewolf had broken his wing. Anything, anything to distract himself from the blood- so much of it- _on_ him-

“Malfoy? Do you want to sit up?” Potter asked. His touch was warm and certain.

Draco nodded, swallowing down the taste of bile at the back of this throat, bracing himself for the pain of moving his arm.

He could hear Granger and Weasley shouting in the distance.

Potter moved around to Draco’s back, lifting him up and letting Draco lean back against him.

Draco couldn’t quite stop a hiss of pain escaping him.

“Sorry,” Potter said softly. He sounded so tired.

Halfway across the clearing Weasley froze, lifting his wand-

Granger held a hand in front of Weasley, “It’s Malfoy.”

Weasley went almost comically pale, “It’s- That’s- _That’s_ Malfoy?”

“Yes. Now hurry up!” Granger said impatiently, jogging through the snow over to them, “Don’t move.”

“Usually, you ask a person if they’re alright first,” Potter said with weary sarcasm.

“You’re obviously not seriously hurt if you can be sarcastic,” Granger said. She held her wand up, “ _Tergeo_ ,” her wand taking a long winding loop in front of her, and as it did all the blood, sweat, and snow melted or not was drawn off Draco in a long stream which Granger direct far away.

Draco could have wept with relief if he hadn’t put those feelings safely away where they couldn’t overwhelm him.

Granger frowned, “I thought it would work for both of you, let me try again.”

She cast the spell a for Potter then Draco again and then managed to get the spell to work on both of them which seemed to satisfy Granger and left them both clean and strangely dry, even the snow around of them had been removed.

“Now, can we move?” Potter asked.

“Yes, I just wanted to reduce the chances of infection,” Granger said, “Were either of you bitten?”

Draco had to close his eyes to focus on changing his face back to normal and felt faintly light-headed once he finished.

“Malfoy’s… wing-? is broken? Is that right? Or is it more like your arm?” Potter asked.

“I don’t care,” Draco said, his voice hoarse.

“I can heal that for you, or you could heal it by changing back,” Granger said.

“Can’t change right away. Used too much energy,” Draco said shortly. His throat hurt.

“Or you can wait until we get back to the castle. I’ll have to magically splint the bones before I heal them. I don’t have pain potions. It’s going to hurt,” Granger warned.

“Already hurts,” Draco said sourly.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Granger asked.

Draco swallowed hard and nodded, “Yes, okay.”

“I’ll try to be quick then,” Granger said. She raised her wand again, and Draco closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see it. The pain burned with every movement that made stars flash behind his eyelids as he pressed himself back into Potter, Potter looped an arm around his waist and held him just as tightly until Granger cast the last spell to heal the bones and the pain faded to a dull throbbing.

“That… that went well,” Granger said.

“You have done this before? Haven’t you?” Potter asked suspiciously.

“I’ve practised on chicken bones,” Granger said.

Draco could just imagine Harry glaring at her to which Granger responded defensively, “It’s the same thing, in principle. And worst case he would have had to change back and use the transformation to heal the damage.”

“So this is why you’re a Gryffindor rather than a Ravenclaw,” Draco said, regretting speaking almost immediately, but unable to pass up the opportunity. He tilted his head back to look at Potter, “Water?”

Potter managed to conjure a rather lumpy mug that he filled with water and held up for Draco to drink. It was so cold it made him start shivering again but still infuriatingly the best water he had ever had in his life, even compared to past aguamenti.

“Potter’s hurt his shoulder,” Draco said as soon as he finished the cup.

“I’m fine,” Potter said.

“He’s not,” Draco said.

“I’m-” but before Potter could try protesting Granger had cast some sort of spell over Potter with a frown.

“Some tearing to the ligaments…” Granger said, “It’s a severe sprain, I think. Once we get back to the hospital wing, a healing potion should fix things.”

“See, not that bad,” Potter muttered into his shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” Draco said.

“I am n-”

“Help me up,” Draco said.

Potter stood up and walked around, looking Draco over.

Realising his mistake, Draco pulled his wings into his chest, wishing he could hide his feet into the snow, but Granger had so helpfully removed it all.

“Oh, I know. This will work,” Potter said, reaching down and hooking his fingers around the thumb hooks on the top of Draco’s wing and using them to pull him to his feet, wincing and then trying to pretend he was fine.

Draco was too dismayed to say anything.

Potter ran his thumb over one of Draco’s talons, pulling his arms open and spreading his wings.

Potter reached out then stopped, “Is it alright if I touch-?”

Draco shrugged.

Potter brushed the backs of his knuckles across the thin faintly scaled skin stretched between his fingers, making Draco want to squirm.

Potter stopped, pulling his hand back, “Sorry.”

Draco shook his head, “It’s-” he cleared his throat, “it feels like you’re touching my fingers, but it doesn’t look or feel quite right. I’m… I’m not used to it.”

“I thought you were a dragon at first,” Potter said.

Draco was of the opinion he looked like an overgrown bat but…. Potter’s idea was rather appealing. And a relief. Potter was wasn’t disgusted, he didn’t hate Draco after seeing him so changed.

“Ah, um, sorry about the teasing before, was really just,” Weasley cleared his throat, staring very nervously at Draco’s talons, “won’t do it again, promise.”

Granger rolled her eyes.

Potter let Draco’s wings drop, and Draco tucked them back up to his chest again, mostly for warmth.

Weasley was staring at the treeline, “Auror’s are here,” he said, frowning as the robed figures coming through the trees started shouting and running through the snow towards them.

Weasley, Granger and Potter shared a silent look that seemed to carry an entire conversation as they all took out their wands and cast one another the other, “ _Protego maxima!_ ” “ - _Fianto duri!_ ” “- _Repello inimicum_!” that Draco could recognise as the strongest protego that existed through he had little practise himself in casting it.

As the shield surrounded them, there was a crashing sound, followed by a crack and a bell-like resonance as several spells hit the protego before it was quiet again. Draco thought he saw Weasley shudder.

Granger sighed, “If only we could have managed that before.”

“Panicking makes things a bit tricky,” Weasley said, sounding tired himself, “I’ll go talk to them.” He stepped out of the protego, came back, pulling Potter into a tight hug, saying, “Glad you’re alright, mate,” then left again, holding his arms up and waving them exuberantly in the air as he crossed the clearing towards the aurors.

Granger quickly asked, “No other injuries?”

“No-” Potter said.

Draco shook his head.

“I’m going to help Ron-” Granger ran after Weasley, calling over her shoulder, “We’ll be right back!”

“You’d think they’d be trained better than that,” Potter said with a frown, “auror’s shouldn’t be throwing spells around like that.”

“Do you think, perhaps,” Draco said slowly, “that a bunch of aurors hunting a dangerous magical creature, in a forest full of dangerous creatures, responding to a distress signal- probably about a dangerous magical creature, might not react well to seeing a monster next to a bunch of students?”

Potter turned and looked over at the cold, still body of the werewolf.

Draco didn’t. Even thinking of looking at it made him feel sick.

“I meant me,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter said, surprised.

“The monster I was talking about was me,” Draco said.

Potter shook his head, confused like Draco had somehow made a mistake.

Draco wanted to sigh, Potter was far too good sometimes. “…You do remember how Hagrid was treated when Skeeter wrote him being half-giant without his permission.”

“He was really cut up about it,” Potter said.

“Because he knew how people would treat him,” Draco said, insistent, “because being half-anything is treated as- as the worst thing you can be.”

“But you’re not a monster, neither of you are,” Potter said.

“That’s just you,” Draco said with growing frustration, “Other people-”

“Are idiots,” Potter interrupted shortly. He huffed and look down at the ground then back up at Draco with a frown, “Look, that’s- It’s-” He stopped again, thinking, “I don’t care what they think, I mean I do, but it’s more that you shouldn’t call yourself that. Because it isn’t true. You’re a person.”

“I’m objectively not,” Draco said.

Potter narrowed his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

“I might.”

“Then cut it out,” Potter said.

Weasley and Granger had reached the aurors, and the shouts of alarm had turned to shouts of confusion, confusion that wasn’t helped by the constant trickle of aurors and students continuing to join them.

Draco pressed his chin down to his chest and was reminded of one other problem.

“I… I’m…” Draco started nervously, unable to look at Potter.

“What is it?” Potter asked and then added far too earnestly, “I’m listening.”

Draco wanted to tell him to shut up, but he had to say it before he lost his nerve, “I’m sorry about your jumper. I promised I’d take good care of it- I-” he pressed his chin deeper into the maroon knit. He could see torn yarn and the holes left by the werewolf’s teeth. “Everything was- I don’t know… it wasn’t what I thought would happen.”

Potter’s hands traced over his jumper to the back where he untied it, and let it unroll, Draco’s socks and shoes falling unnoticed onto the ground.

“I thought you were wearing a scarf…” Potter said, holding it up, studying the tears near the bottom. “I’m glad you wore it.”

“What?” Draco said.

“I’m glad it was there. You might have- I thought when the wolf bit your neck, I was afraid-” Potter stopped abruptly, swallowing hard.

“You said it was precious to you,” Draco said in a small voice.

Potter gathered the jumper up and pulled it over Draco’s head, leaving his hair a staticy halo around his head, “I can always ask Molly to make me another, if she hasn’t already. There’s only one of you.”

Draco closed his eyes, focusing on changing his arms back.

“Wha- I thought you said you didn’t have enough energy to change-”

Draco wavered, grabbing onto Potter’s jacket as a wave of light-headedness washed over.

“Draco,” Potter caught his shoulders.

Draco stubbornly put one arm then the other through the sleeves and that done, was finally able to do what he actually needed, put his arms around Potter and hug him as tightly as he could manage. He felt Potter slowly relax against him, hugging him back just as tightly.

Draco bit his lip, feeling his face flush, his voice hardly even a whisper, “Starling.”

Potter twitched in surprise and then gave Draco a tight squeeze, “Chickadee,” he sounded like he was smiling.

Draco pressed his face tighter to Potter’s shoulder.

“Someone’s coming,” Potter said under his breath, letting go of one arm but keeping the other around Draco’s back.

A string slip of a man in black robes, accented in silver was the head of a few people moving over to the werewolf. He stopped in front of the body, tilting his head curiously then turning on his heel in a slow circle, taking in the clearing and the snow kicked up all around them from the fight, finally stopping on the two of them.

“A veela?” the stringy man said, studying Draco with unnerving interest, “Full transformation?” he gestured to the wolf, “You did this?”

“I had help,” Draco said stiffly, nodding towards Potter.

“Very little, I would imagine,” the stringy man said.

Draco stiffened and felt Potter squeeze his side before he could say anything else.

“Have this taken to my department, immediately,” the stringy man said to the people following behind him.

Gawain Robards drew himself up, “I will do no such thing, Vineland. That might well might be Greyback, who is part of an open investigation! If I let you Mystery folk take it, I’ll never see it again.”

Vineland seemed annoyingly unimpressed, “I can have whatever relevant identification you need done by my people and send you a report. This is a one-of-kind research opportunity. I won’t let it be ruined by a bunch of dundering aurors.”

A woman in healer’s green, sighed at the two of them, “I need to collect some samples for testing.”

“You’ll take that back, there’s no better lot than my aurors in the whole ministry,” Robards said, stepping closer to Vineland.

Vineland sniffed at him, “A bunch of clumsy show-offs who are almost guaranteed to contaminate, if not ruin, anything they come in contact with.”

The healer sighed and walked around the two arguing men, kneeling beside the body, conjuring vials filling with blood and fur, and then leaving as they continued to bicker.

Weasley and Granger returned, and Draco was happy to turn his attention to them.

“So… that ought to be everything,” Weasley said.

Granger stuffed her hands deep in her pockets with a shiver, “The students are all going back to school.”

There was a second of silence before Weasley helpfully added, “That means us, we’re students.”

“Oh, right,” Potter glanced back at Robards, “If you’re sure.”

“It’s Hermione, she’s always sure,” Weasley’s said.

“ _Sometimes_ I listen to what’s being said around me, it’s called paying attention,” Granger said with a glare.

Weasley made a face, “Yeah… but it’s not really worth it most of the time, is it?”

Hogwarts was barely a glimmer of light through the trees and Draco wasn’t sure if he turned his feet back if he’d have the strength to walk. On the other hand, his feet as they were, were not really designed for walking, at least very far.

“I’ll carry you,” Potter said, guessing the problem.

“You’re injured,” Draco said.

“I can manage until we get back,” Potter said.

“You,” Vineland, interrupted them, his argument apparently finished, “Full-blooded veela are exceedingly rare. After school, we’d love to have you at the Department of Mysteries.”

“He doesn’t want to be your potion rat, Vineland, move on,” Robards snapped.

“My offer stands,” Vineland said before slumping off.

Robards shook his head at him before turning back to the group, “You did well, you lot. The aurors would look kindly on an application from any of you.” He turned to Draco, studying him with a faint frown, “Veela, they have resistance to spells, don’t they?”

“I haven’t tested it,” Draco said carefully.

Robards nodded to himself, “Mighty useful thing… Keep up your studies, the aurors only accept the best!”

Robards said a few more meaningless platitudes and then headed back to his milling group of aurors.

“I mean, they require Exceed Expectations or better, that’s not _the best_ , technically speaking,” Granger said.

“Good thing to or Harry’d never make it in,” Weasley teased.

“Hey!” Potter said.

“I’m leaving,” Draco said.

“I’ll-”

“You can carry my socks if you want to help,” Draco said, pointing them before starting to walk, each step a bit more careful and deliberate than he was used to.

Potter snatched up his sock bundle and hurried after, “Just let me-”

“No,” Draco said, “I’ll be fine. You can go on ahead if you don’t want to wait for me.”

“I’m not going on ahead,” Potter said.

“Alright then we’ll-” Weasley tried to say and got an elbow in the side for his trouble.

Weasley and Granger exchanged glares.

“I’m hungry,” Weasley grumbled.

“Dinner hasn’t even started yet, you’re not going to miss it,” Granger said.

“Still hungry though,” Weasley muttered.

Draco felt ravenous himself.

“What’ve we here?” A booming voice called, followed by Hagrid stepping out through the trees.

“Hagrid!” Draco said, hesitating and then hurrying ahead a few steps to hug him around the middle, “I’m so glad to see you!”

Hagrid patted his back with one large hand, he tried to look stern but had to keep fighting a smile, “Thought I saw a wee birdy flyin’ around in the sky, bit high up it seemed to me.”

Draco winced and said quickly, “I had to save Potter from a werewolf, it was terribly important. I’m certain it won’t happen again.”

Hagrid blinked and then nodded slowly, “Well!… I’d imagine so. That sound like quite the tale.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the energy left to change back, and it’s hard to walk like this, would it be too much to ask for your assistance?” Draco asked.

“O’course not!” Hagrid said, leaning down and offering an arm.

“I could have carried you just fine,” Potter said, bristling.

Draco clung onto a handful of Hagrid’s jacket as he sat in the crook of his arm, “He could not. He’s hurt his shoulder.”

“Harry! Yeh shoulda said yeh were injured! I’ve another arm,” Hagrid said, gesturing it with an earnest expression. “Come on then.”

“Go on, mate,” Weasley said.

Granger rolled her eyes with a very knowing expression.

Potter glowered.

“We can go back together,” Draco said.

Potter sighed and let himself be scooped up.

“Thank you for this, Hagrid,” Draco said as Hagrid stood back up to his full eight and a half feet.

“Yeah, thank you” Potter said.

“Weren’t no problem. Come on then, tell me what happened,” Hagrid said.

Weasley started the story off as they all walked back to the castle together, Granger adding in the occasional detail.

Draco held his hand out, and despite his mood, Potter took it and held on the entire journey back.

  
  



	20. Chapter 20

  
  


“Make sure you get some rest,” Pomfrey said as she dimmed the lights, “Tomorrow will be very busy.”

Harry looked up at the ceiling and then across the room at the bed where Draco was sleeping. Draco had been given about five different potions when they reached the hospital wing, ate enough for three people and then immediately went to sleep. Harry had been given one potion and then had to go over everything that happened in agonising detail with an auror writing a report and again when McGonagall came to visit after dinner.

Harry sighed and rolled back onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t relax much less sleep. His body felt tired, but his mind was whirling in circles from everything that happened.

There was a faint creak across the room, and as Harry looked over, he saw Draco get up and pad over to Harry’s bed.

“You’re-” Harry started as Draco pulled his blankets up and crowded himself onto the bed, “Are you mad? These beds are even narrower than yours,” he said under his breath.

“Shall I leave?” Draco asked quietly with a tone that Harry was sure was Draco meant to be entirely guileless, which is why he didn’t trust it in the least. He also wasn’t going to say no.

“I managed it just fine before,” Draco said.

Harry wrapped an arm around Draco as he settled more or less on top of Harry in the narrow bed. “I thought you fell asleep right after dinner.”

“And get harassed by people for hours? No, thank you,” Draco said.

“You bastard,” Harry said.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t think of it first,” Draco said.

Harry grinned ruefully into the darkness.

He could feel Draco’s heart beating just below his. Harry combed his fingers through Draco’s hair. It felt as silky as it looked and he had a sudden pang of jealousy remembering all the times he saw Parkinson combing Draco’s hair, she had always seemed so pleased with herself, so smug-

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Draco asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Harry said.

“All those potions make me feel as if I’ve had five cups of coffee,” Draco said.

That had been hours ago, and Harry was pretty sure potions didn’t linger like that unless they were meant to. He had an idea of what the real reason was since Harry was feeling it too, the lingering anxiety and a mind that wouldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened in the forest. He wished he could see Draco’s expression, but maybe it was easier to talk about these sorts of things in the dark. “Was that the first time…um…. You- that someone died?”

Draco shuddered against him, his heartbeat picking up.

“We don’t have to talk about it, but I sort of know how you feel,” Harry said.

After a long pause, Draco said, “…acting like some sort of expert, you only accidentally killed one madman.“

“I… I also invoked a life-debt that ended up killing Peter Pettigrew. And…” Harry grimaced, “I got my god-father killed. Everyone says it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t change how it felt, it felt the same.”

“I…” Draco hesitated, “I had to crucio people… they didn’t always get up, I- I don’t know if they were- I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “For me, it feels kinda like a lead weight inside, like there’s a pit in my stomach that never quite goes away.”

“…do you think it will? just….someday.”

Harry said, “It feels like it sort of shrinks over time. Until there are weeks and even months when I forget what happened but then it’ll suddenly hit me, and it feels just as heavy as before…”

Draco clutched at Harry’s thin infirmary pyjamas.

“Hermione says I should see a mind healer,” Harry said.

“She’s probably right,” Draco said, “Granger tends to be. It’s infuriating.”

“I wonder if we could go together?”

“As in, we see the same mind healer at the same time?” Draco asked incredulously.

“They do it in marriage counselling,” Harry said.

“I didn’t know our marriage was in trouble,” Draco said sarcastically.

Harry grinned, “So you’re saying they don’t have joint war trauma sessions?”

“No,” Draco said, “…they do group counselling though, that’s not _that_ different.”

“A group of two,” Harry said.

“It’s not the worst idea,” Draco said.

Harry thought it was worth trying, the idea of mind healing didn’t seem as intimidating if Draco was there with him.

“I’m going to remember you said I had a good idea,” Harry said.

“I didn’t say it was good, I said it wasn’t the worst,” Draco said, “that’s not the same thing.”

“But…,” Harry said, “the opposite of worst is good-”

There was the sound of a door opening, the light flipping on a second later from Pomfrey’s rooms attached to the hospital wing.

Harry gripped Draco tightly, flipping them both onto their sides, hiding Draco from sight. He snatched up the empty glass from the nightstand.

“Harry? Are you making all that noise?” Pomfrey asked.

“Sorry, Pomfrey,” Harry said, holding up the glass, “I was thirsty.”

Pomfrey huffed at him and cast a few charms that took the cup from him, filling it from a floating pitcher and putting them all back onto the table without a drop spilt. “You ought to be more considerate of the other patients. Do you need a dreamless sleep?”

“No. Sorry,” Harry said. He picked up the water taking a sip for show until Pomfrey was gone.

“You ought to be more considerate,” Draco whispered, prodding a finger into Harry’s chest, “Potter’s always so selfish. Look at him, fighting dark lords and werewolves.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry murmured.

“When he really ought to thinking about waking up the ex-deatheater and the kid in a magical fucking coma.”

“She’s probably annoyed I- _we_ woke her up,” Harry hissed, trying to sound stern, “so shut up.”

Draco snickered, “She called you _selfish_ -”

Harry moved down the bed, cupping the back of Draco’s neck and kissing him. It was very effective in shutting him up. Though it ended up being quite a bit more than a single kiss.

* * *

  
  


  
  


“Hey, didn’t think you’d up yet,” Ron said with a yawn as he came into the hospital wing, hands slouched deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” Harry said, setting his mostly finished breakfast tray on the edge of the bed.

Ron looked around the room, mildly puzzled, “Wasn’t that your bed, over there?” he pointed across the room.

“Didn’t want to wake up Draco, so I moved,” Harry said.

Ron’s eyes went wide, “Cool-okay, don’t need any more information.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything else,” Harry said.

“Right, like I said-”

“What did you think I was going to say?” Harry asked and then prodded a bit further, “Were you thinking it was pervy?”

“No,” Ron said quickly, his face starting to go red.

“And what if we just talked and slept?” Harry said.

Ron grimaced while trying very hard not to, “That’s- great-stop, please.”

Harry frowned, faintly amused, “Is that… worse?”

“It’s just, _look_ ,” Ron said, “I’ve got this whole image of Malfoy in my head, and it’s mostly sneering and saying rude shit, and I’m working on changing that out with the Malfoy now, like the new and improved Malfoy that you fancy, but sometimes the old Malfoy picture in my head gets mixed in with _now_ and it’s-” he sighed and kind of gave up, “ _weird_. I’m- I’m working on it.”

“Thanks,” Harry said with a crooked smile.

Ron sat on the end of the bed, nicking a piece of toast Harry hadn’t finished.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

“She’s sleeping in," Ron said, "She was up all night with McGonagall working on some new transfiguration spell.”

“What for?” Harry asked, yesterday Pomfrey had said they’d have to take a potion to inoculate them against any potential rabies infections so it wouldn’t be that.

“You know how she’s been kind of obsessed with how transformation can heal like even fatal stuff?”

Harry frowned, “Some of it. I’ve been worrying about other stuff.”

“Malfoy stuff,” Ron said.

“Yeah, and werewolf stuff, and… maybe me stuff too,” Harry said.

Ron nodded in agreement, picking up the other piece of toast, tapping it absently on the edge of the plate.

“So, what’s Hermione up to with the healing power of transformation?” Harry asked.

Ron smiled, “Well she says with the way werewolf infections spread so slow, she thinks maybe a really, and I mean _really_ , talented transfigurationist could like, transfigure the kid into _himself_ but without the werewolf bits stuck in his… in his dna, whatever that is.”

“So she got McGonagall to help,” Harry said.

Ron nodded and finally took a bite of toast, “Best at transfiguration anywhere.”

“If it worked, couldn’t that heal a lot of things?” Harry asked.

Ron nodded, looking unabashedly proud, “It’s dead clever. She’ll earn a medal for it, no doubt. It’ll be written in the history books.”

“She hasn’t even started healer training yet,” Harry said.

“It’s not like its the only thing she’s gonna figure out. I bet she’ll make three more discoveries at least,” Ron said.

“Sounds about right,” Harry said.

Ron looked around, spotting Malfoy's breakfast tray beside the bed,“Think Malfoy would miss if I had some of his toast?”

“Yes,” Harry said without hesitation.

“But that’s- that’s _a lot_ of food,” Ron said.

“He’ll eat it all,” Harry said, “He’s got the metabolism of a hummingbird.”

“I heard that…” came the muttered reply from Draco’s pile of blankets.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Draco lifted the edge of a blanket to glare at Ron, the effect ruined somewhat by the glare being more of a squint and a creased line from his pillow across one cheek.

Ron held up both hands, “Won’t touch it. Forget I said anything.”

Draco added another mutter, too obscured by the covers he pulled around himself to understand.

“Didn’t you eat before coming here?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged, “Nah, I was thinking. Been thinking a lot. … I didn't sleep much.”

“You alright?” Harry asked.

Ron nodded, “Yeah, yeah. It’s, uh, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened yesterday.” 

"What about?"

Ron's shoulders hunched as he tucked his chin against his chest, “Like if I’d been able to cast a protego maxia, then you coulda just snuck off.”

“It’s a difficult spell,” Harry said.

“Then the blasting spell,” Ron shook his head, “That was rubbish. If I had said we should cast a binding charm instead we could’ve wrapped that werewolf up neat as a present.”

“The blasting charm was a pretty good idea in the moment,” Harry said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Ron said his voice rough, “It was rubbish. What if me an’ Hermione had cast at the same time, we might have thrown the wolf right at you. Then what would have happened?”

“I don’t know, because it didn’t happen,” Harry said, “Everything worked out alright in the end.”

“But it could have been- you almost-” Ron stopped and swallowed hard. “If it wasn’t for Malfoy, you might have gotten really hurt, or worse.”

“If anyone’s to blame, then it’s my fault we were there in the first place,” Harry said.

“But I’m supposed to be good at strategy- I was supposed to-!”

“Supposed to nothing,” Harry interrupted, “We aren’t supposed to be anything. You did your best, we all did, and it was fine. We’re fine.” He pushed his breakfast tray out of the way, and sat next to Ron, hugging him as best he could.

Ron hugged him back so tight Harry could feel his bone creak, “I dunno, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I guess. I felt like I needed to.”

“I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for, but I’ll say it’s alright anyway, if that helps.”

“Sort of,” Ron said, letting go and sitting back. He took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to bog you down with all that but Hermione's always saying it’s not healthy to keep it to yourself. After school, I’ll get a proper mind healer who has to listen to all the stupid things I worry about.”

“Yeah… I might do that too,” Harry said, “It’s probably a good thing?”

Ron nodded, “A very good thing.”

“Right,” Harry said.

Ron stood up and put his hands back in his pocket, “I’m gonna get something to eat, that always cheers me up.”

“I could tag along if you want,” Harry offered, thinking he could probably sneak out of the hospital wing without too much trouble.

“Nah, I’ll be right back,” Ron said, giving Harry a wave as he headed towards the doors.

With nothing better to do, Harry eventually laid back down and dozed off in the warm, softly lit room. He woke to the feeling of Draco carefully combing through his hair, the warm line of his thigh pressed along Harry’s back.

“Hi,” Harry said, not really bothering to move or even open his eyes, feeling exceptionally, perfectly comfortable.

“I would say good morning, but it might be afternoon by now. I’m not entirely sure,” Draco said, drawing his fingers through Harry’s hair from scalp to tip and making him shiver.

“Did Ron come back?” Harry asked.

“Briefly,” Draco said, “Weasley saw me tidying this mess you call hair and decided to try later.”

Harry grinned.

“He had quite the expression on his face,” Draco said.

“Oh yeah?” Harry said.

“Mhmm,” Draco said, “I enjoyed it greatly.”

"I can imagine," Harry laughed.

“Hello?” Hermione called, her voice fading as she came into the hospital wing, “Sorry, I’m late…?”

“Was there an appointment for something I was unaware of?” Draco asked.

“No, I guess not,” Hermione said, “I just assumed that everyone would want to get this sorted out as soon as possible.”

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and sat up, “Ron told me about the spell you were working on, do you think it will work?”

Hermione sat on the bed opposite, “Theoretically, yes, there’s no reason it shouldn’t. The problem is that… well, magic is very specific, but not specific enough.”

“What?” Harry asked. He could feel Draco move closer, leaning against his shoulder.

Hermione’s face scrunched up in thought, “…For example, you could turn a teacup into a mouse without too much trouble, but turning a teacup into an Australian hopping mouse would be extremely difficult. Which isn’t to say you couldn’t transfigure the mouse to _look_ quite like an Australian hopping mouse, but I don't think it would really _be_ an Australian hopping mouse, genetically speaking.”

“But then what would it be? A teacup?” Harry asked.

Hermione sighed, “I’m not sure. Unsurprisingly, there isn’t much overlap between wizards and geneticists. It’s all an educated guess at this point.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Harry asked.

“Nothing will happen, and he just stays the way he is,” Hermione said, “I wanted to try the spell before Thomas woke up, so as not to get his hopes up, but Professor McGonagall said we had to get permission from his parents first. She owled them so… hopefully, we hear back soon.”

“Owled…” Malfoy said, “Won’t his parents be coming to see him, especially if he’s waking up?”

Hermione winced looking down at her hands, “They visited when he was first attacked before he was put in an enchanted sleep… they weren’t happy that he might be a werewolf. There's still so much prejudice...”

Draco went very still behind him.

“Will he be safe with them, you think? Could he spend the summer with one of his friends if he needs to?” Harry asked.

“It’s too soon to say how his parents will treat him. It might be fine,” Hermione smiled faintly, a little sadly, “Yasmin and Imogen visit him every day. I’m sure they’ll look after him.”

“Yeah, but there’s only so much you can do as a kid,” Harry said.

Hermione hesitated and shrugged, “I don’t know, Harry.”

Pomfrey opened the door to her office, leaning out, “Hermione? Is that you? Could you come help me with these potions.”

“Yes!” Hermione jumped to her feet and hurried back to the office.

“That’s another thing you’ll have to tell me about,” Draco said right by Harry’s ear.

Harry twitched away, covering his ear, “What?”

“That strange conversation, you have to explain what you meant. And I haven’t forgotten your promise to tell me about the forest,” Draco said.

“Seems like there’s a lot I’m supposed to tell you. When are you going to tell me your secrets?” Harry asked.

“When you ask,” Draco said, “I would think you know by now that I love talking about myself.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking, “Well…What was it like growing up in such a huge house?”

Draco rolled his eyes with a scoff, “It was- normal,” he shrugged, “I got lost sometimes when I was small. But I was never scared because I could always call a house elf.”

“Never scared? At all?”

Draco frowned and gave Harry a warning look before answering, “Up in the attic, I only went into it once. It was full of horrible things.”

It had seemed like to Harry that most of the Malfoy manor was slightly horrible and terrifying, he couldn’t imagine something worse than what he had seen, “Yeah? What sort of horrible things? You can’t just leave it at that.”

“I _could_ ,” Draco said.

“So could I,” Harry said, bumping Draco with his shoulder, “Come on, fair play.”

“Slytherins don’t play fair,” Draco said before answering anyway, “The lighting charms were nearly burned out, so they barely gave off any light. At first, I couldn’t make out anything, as I came up the stairs, then I saw it, _monsters_.”

“Monsters,” Harry repeated with a laugh.

Draco spread out his hands, “I was surrounded by them, with their horrible glass eyes, covered in dust and cobwebs over matted, moth-eaten fur,” he shuddered dramatically. “One of my ancestors must have been a big game hunter, and those were all his old horrible trophies… It gave me nightmares for months.”

“How old were you?” Harry asked, amused.

“Five,” Draco said, and added in case Harry had missed it, “The precious tender age of only _five_.”

“How scary,” Harry said.

“It _was_ ,” Draco said.

Harry laughed and was only saved from being smacked by a pillow by Hermione returning. She had a tray with two mugs made of metal as big as pint glasses on it.

“This is the potion to cure you of rabies,” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t bitten,” Harry said, but he’d said that yesterday as well and been told it was better to safe than sorry. Apparently, the spell to detect if someone had rabies only worked once the infection was too far along to save them from permanent nerve damage, so anyone suspected of have been infected had to take the potion. Hermione said it was the same with muggles only they had to have a series of shots.

As Hermione set the tray on the side table, and Harry could see the potion held within, the muggle shots weren’t sounding nearly as bad.

Draco slid to the edge of the bed to sit next to Harry and took the metal pint without complaint. Harry made the most pained expression he could summon in the face of the _liquid_. It bore a striking resemblance to tar.

“I don’t suppose this tastes better than it looks?” Harry said, staring morosely at the potion as a large bubble rose to the top and very slowly popped with a slurply blurp.

“Does any potion taste better than it looks?” Hermione said.

Considering how many potions were candy coloured but almost always tasted strange and off-putting at best, it did not bode well.

Harry sighed.

Hermione glanced over at Draco, her eyes widening in surprise.

Harry looked over just in time to see him pouring the last of the potion into his transformed beak. He sat the empty looked from Hermione to Harry and then made a little huffed, hiss of a laugh.

Hermione grinned.

“What?”

“Well,” Hermione said, “I believe birds have a less developed sense of taste.”

Draco nodded, looking pleased with himself.

“That’s cheating!” Harry said, turning to Hermione, “Isn’t it? Won’t that ruin the potion?”

“It’s not a spell, it’s just his body. As far as I know, it won’t affect it,” Hermione said.

“Change me then?” Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, “Using my magic on you could effect the potency of the potion.”

“Ugh,” Draco said after changing back, “Doesn’t get rid of the aftertaste though.”

“Could you…vanish my tongue?” Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head, “Using my magic instead of your native magic-”

“-Could effect the potion,” Harry finished lamely. “…Could I do it?”

“Yes. But getting rid of things is easy. Do you want to try regrowing your tongue like you had to regrow the bones in your arm?” Hermione asked.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Harry said.

“This one could be,” Hermione said. “Just take the potion. You could be done by now like Malfoy, if you hadn’t sat here whinging.”

“…fine,” Harry grimaced and plugged his nose with one hand and lifted the mug to his lips.

It wasn’t until after he choked the potion down that Harry realised he could have numbed his tongue and easily solved the problem.

* * *

  
  


  
  


When McGonagall arrived, everything that was still sprung back into motion, with Pomfrey and Granger at her side, and Weasley sitting out of the way, seemly happy enough not to be studying. Draco stayed with Potter on the bed they had commandeered as their own, a couple beds away. They sat side by side, leaning against one another and finding comfort in each other’s closeness.

“The parents must have sent permission,” Draco said.

Potter nodded, “I hope it works.”

Draco was quiet.

Potter looked over curiously, “What is it?”

Draco frowned, “I don’t- I feel conflicted. I know being a werewolf is difficult and dangerous.”

“But?”

“I feel like… I’m losing someone, someone who would understand,” Draco said carefully, “And I realise that our experiences would be vastly different and… because of my past, I doubt any half- any mixed magic folk would want anything to do with me… It’s just, other than Hagrid I can’t think of any others like me, like us.”

“Maybe they just hide it,” Potter said.

Draco sighed.

“…What about Fleur, she’s a veela like you,” Potter suggested.

“Last time we met she wanted to murder me,” Draco said.

“Yeah, but she had Victoire with her, and you were just starting to changing, right? Maybe it would be different this time,” Potter said, ever the optimist.

Draco frowned.

“You should try owling her, you never know. I’ll put in a good word for you,” Potter said.

Draco snorted, doubting it would lead anywhere, “I suppose.”

They both went quiet as McGonagall lifted her wand, her eyes closed in concentration for a moment. The whole room held their breath as she opened her eyes, her wand moving in sharp, short movements accompanied by a string of unfamiliar latin. They breathed out as the spell cast, a silvery shimmer seemed to settle over Thomas, and he wavered for a second like a mirage.

“It cast,” Granger said with palpable relief.

“You said he hadn’t shown signs of lycanthropy yet?” McGonagall said.

“It usually doesn’t show on the diagnostic spell until their first full moon,” Pomfrey said.

McGonagall nodded, slipped her wand back into her robes, “We shall have to wait and see then, and hope it worked.”

Pomfrey and Hermione crowded in close and the three of them started talking about technical medical things and about writing a report on the experiment.

“Ask me another question,” Draco said.

“Another one?” Potter grimaced just a bit as he tried to think of another question, “Um… what are you going to do after we graduate?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “I knew what I was going to do before, but now, everything is different.”

“What were you going to do before then?” Potter asked.

“If you think that holds some sort of secret clue, you’re very wrong,” Draco said.

Potter leaned a little more weight against him, the bedsprings creaking faintly beneath them, “Just tell me.”

“Fine, but you’re going to be disappointed,” Draco said. “After I graduated and my parole was officially finished in July, I had planned to take a portkey to my parent’s villa in France. Then I would have done nothing, but after a few weeks, my mother would start dragging me along to lunch and garden parties. And those parties would gradually begin to have more and more eligible scions of whatever families have the most power or money or whatever.” He grimaced, imagining it happening all too clearly, “At some point, my father would start pushing that I should get a job in government, and my mother would set up a few meetings and then I would end up a clerk or maybe someone’s assistant.”

Potter frowned.

“Then, after a few years, I would be pressured to marry, find a young woman willing to have a mostly platonic marriage and produce an heir. And in my job, I might eventually be promoted to have my own desk working in some department no one gives two figs about until I eventually die of despair or boredom, whichever comes first.” Draco kicked his feet against the bottom of the bed, “I told you it was boring.”

“I mean, none of that was something you wanted, though. It was all things your parents wanted,” Potter said, “What do _you_ want?”

“I already told you, I don’t know,” Draco said quietly. “I was never really raised with the expectation that I would have any choice in the matter. My life was decided when I was born with the last name Malfoy.”

“You have one now,” Potter said.

It still didn’t feel like it. When Draco imagined his future, he had no idea where it might go, only that he wanted to stay by Potter’s side for as long as he would have him.

Thomas’ friends had arrived just as Pomfrey removed the sleeping spell. Thomas slept on, but a hug from one friend and a kiss on the cheek from the other was enough love to break the fragile enchantment, and they all hugged each other happily, shouting over one another in their excitement.

Draco found himself smiling faintly.

“Calm down. No more shouting or you’ll have to leave,” Pomfrey said sternly, “This is a place of healing, not a quidditch match.”

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Thomas said.

Yasmin murmured a quiet, “Sorry.” but Imogen just pressed her hands over her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

“What happened? Did you get it, that terrible wolf or is it still- still out there?” Thomas asked with wide eyes.

“Harry Potter saved you,” Yasmin said.

“I helped,” Imogen said proudly.

“I wish you hadn’t, I nearly had a heart attack when you showed up,” Potter said.

All three jumped, looking at Potter in a mixture of horror and awe that made Draco want to laugh.

“Sorry!” Imogen squeaked, all of her bravado gone.

“Thank you for saving me,” Tomas said.

Potter nodded awkwardly. Draco had to roll his eyes.

“I don’t remember much of it, but it was… scary,” Thomas said, “Is it- Did you get it?”

“Of course, he did! He’s a hero!” Imogen said.

“I think Miss Granger and Mr Weasley helped,” Yasmin said.

Weasley nearly choked at the ‘Mr Weasley’ and quickly shook his head, “Nah, not us. I mean I’d say we helped, but Malfoy,” he jerked a thumb in Draco’s direction, “Malfoy was the one who ki- uh, stopped it.”

“He saved my life too,” Potter said, entirely and utterly earnest.

Granger laughed, “I’m afraid Draco Malfoy’s the hero this time.”

The three students stared at him with disbelief that was only matched by Draco’s own.

“Oh… um, thank you, Mr Malfoy,” Thomas said.

“You killed a whole werewolf? By yourself?!” Imogen blurted.

“Imogen!” Yasmin hissed.

“ _What_?! It’s amazing!” Imogen said just as loudly.

Draco felt his cheeks start to flush and ducked his head, rubbing his hand over a warm cheek.

Pomfrey cleared her throat and shot Imogen a warning look.

Imogen clapped her hands over her mouth but kept looking at Draco with bright eyes.

Potter elbowed Draco in the side with a grin.

Pomfrey brought over a tray with a large metal mug no doubt carrying the same horrible potion he and Potter had had to take. The students were soon distracted by the horror of it with a chorus of ‘ewwws’ and teasing back and forth as Thomas looked faintly ill at the prospect of drinking it all.

“…Do you think that auror meant it when he said I’d be welcome in the aurors?” Draco asked.

“What? You- You want to be an auror?” Potter said, staring at Draco with wide eyes.

“Maybe? It might be nice to help people,” Draco said, “And… the training takes three years, doesn’t it?”

Potter nodded, “But-”

“Then I have three years to see if it’s something I’d like to do,” Draco said, “Besides, I’ve spent the last two months only studying your NEWT’s, I probably won’t even get E’s in the others at this rate.”

“I doubt that,” Potter said.

Draco shook his head, “You’ve never fallen behind in ancient runes before.”

“Hermione will help you catch up,” Potter said.

"Maybe," Draco said doubtfully.

"...Are you sure?"

“It’s not a bad plan,” Draco said.

Potter hesitated, “I just- I don’t want you to do it just because I am, chickadee.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, starling,” Draco said and was pleased to see Potter looking embarrassed.

“…as long as you know you can always change your mind,” Potter said.

“Because I have a choice now, yes I remember,” Draco said, “I was there five minutes ago when we talked about it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Potter muttered.

Thomas was holding the potion in both hands staring down at it and looking a bit ill. Yasmin appeared to be encouraging Thomas while Imogen was shouted chug! chug! chug! and then collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Potter leaned close, “Will you say it again?”

“What?” Draco said blankly.

“Starling,” Potter murmured.

“If I say it too often it will lose its appeal,” Draco said.

“No, it won’t. I’m absolutely certain it won’t,” Potter said.

“Do you know much about starlings?”

Potter frowned at him, “Draco.”

“They look just like any sort of bird from first glance, kind of brownish-black with white spots,” Draco went on heedless.

“ _Draco_.”

“But the thing is-”

“ _Chickadee_.”

Draco smiled, “ _The thing is,_ that their feathers are actually iridescent and make the most beautiful rainbow of colours when they catch the light.”

Potter blinked and might have even looked a bit flushed.

“So even though a starling might look ordinary at first, I’ve found that they’re actually quite extraordinary if you take a closer look,” Draco said.

“You’re not talking about birds, are you?” Potter said.

“I’m fairly certain I am, starling,” Draco said, though that wasn’t entirely true.

“You’re not,” Potter said, picking up a pillow and holding it in front of them so no one could see them kiss.

* * *

  
  


the end

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate all the comments and kudos, they keep me going♥

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!♡ I will hopefully be updating every other wednesday. Comments and kudos are adored♡♡♡

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Seclusion at Hogwarts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855105) by [CoCo (Cportera)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cportera/pseuds/CoCo)




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